A Normal Life
by GuyWhoWrites
Summary: A Harry/Hermione fic detailing their life together after the war. Unoriginal, I know, but I always wanted to write one.
1. Awakening

_A/N: I've always wanted to write a happy Harry/Hermione fic set after the war detailing life, relationships, family etc. I know that this fic is in that sense anything but unique but hopefully you'll decide to give this a read and enjoy it anyway. Just so you're completely up to speed, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Hedwig and Dobby are all still very much alive. _

**Chapter One**

**Awakening**

Harry's eyes flicked open very suddenly. Above him was the stone ceiling of the Hospital Wing, a sight he knew all too well. He tried to sit up and immediately felt a stabbing pain in his side. Looking down, he saw that a bandage had been wrapped around his stomach and that there was a large blood stain just beneath his right arm. He grimaced at the sight.

Barely two minutes later, the doors swung open and Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, came bustling in carrying a breakfast tray.

"Ah, good, you're awake," she said in her usual brisk, businesslike tone, but Harry could see a small smile on her face. "I brought you some breakfast just in case. I'm very pleased to see that it won't go to waste."

She set the tray down gently on Harry's knees, which gave Harry the comfort of knowing that his legs weren't broken, before walking over to the blood stain on his bandage. She carefully peeled back the linen and examined the wound.

"Hmm, yes," she said, causing Harry to wonder precisely what she was seeing.

"Is it serious?" he asked.

"Not as much as it was," she replied, still not looking up from the wound, "but you will have to take a few more potions."

Before Harry could speak, the doors opened again and in strode Professor McGonagall, followed by two very anxious looking people. Harry smiled widely when he saw them. They were his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They both came rushing over to him and Hermione all but smothered him in a hug.

"Harry!" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. "We thought… We thought…"

"It doesn't take a genius to work out how that sentence ends, Hermione," Harry said, giving her a small smile. "I'm fine. Well, apart from this." He gestured to the bandage that Madam Pomfrey was still fussing over. "Do either of you two know what happened to me, by the way?"

"You were hit by sectumsempra, mate," Ron replied, looking white as a sheet and speaking as though it pained him. "One of the fleeing Death Eaters' handiwork. I reckon it was Lucius Malfoy but Hermione disagrees."

"He wasn't even fighting, Ron," Hermione said, impatiently.

Professor McGonagall, who had been watching the exchange between the trio, cleared her throat for attention.

"I do, in fact, know who cast the curse that hospitalised you, Mr Potter. It was Theodore Nott. He has since been expelled from the school, his wand confiscated and snapped in half, as have all the other Slytherins who joined Lord Voldemort."

At the mention of Voldemort's name, both Ron and Madam Pomfrey shuddered and winced. Professor McGonagall gave them a look she usually reserved for Harry and Ron when they were messing about at the back of her classroom.

"Really you two," she said, brusquely, "Voldemort is dead. His followers either shared his fate, were imprisoned or are on the run and will be caught by the Ministry before long. Everyone who was under the imperius curse has recovered. There is nothing to fear from them anymore."

"You did it, mate," said Ron, colour quickly returning to his face now that he had seen that Harry was alright, "saved the world. How does it feel?"

"Like an old friend," Harry joked. "It's not a new experience, Ron."

Ron laughed.

"Fair enough, mate. Should we leave you to recover?"

"Yes, please," replied Madam Pomfrey. "Out you all go. You too, professor, please."

Ron, Hermione and Professor McGonagall left the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry with the remnants of his breakfast and Madam Pomfrey still fussing over his bandage.

"Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, making it very clear by his tone that he wanted to ask her a question, "how long have I been here? Only Professor McGonagall said that a lot of Death Eaters had been imprisoned."

"Three days," she replied, curtly. "We captured most of the surviving Death Eaters immediately after the battle." She summoned two small, green bottle from the medicine cabinet on the other side of the room and held them out to Harry, who took them and placed them on his bedside table. "Drink the larger one first, Potter," she said, pointing to it. "That will help with your injury. After a couple of minutes, take the smaller one. That's a sleeping draught and will give the potion more chance to take effect."

Harry did as instructed and was soon asleep again. When he awoke, the room was very dark. Moonlight was the only way he could see anything and the only thing he could hear was rain hammering on the windows.

No, that wasn't true.

He could hear soft breathing. Immediately, wild imaginings flashed through his head. Voldemort emerging from the shadows, wand raised, mouth curled in an evil laugh, Ron and Hermione dead at his feet.

"No!" Harry shouted and reached for his wand. At the same moment he heard a very feminine scream.

"Lumos," came a very familiar girl's voice. The end of a wand tip lit up and by it's light Harry could see Hermione, sat no more than two feet from him. She had obviously been crying - the redness of her eyes and the lines on her face told him that much.

"Hermione," he said, breathing heavily to recover form the shock of her scream. "What are you doing here?"

"Bungee jumping," she replied sarcastically. "What do you bloody well think I'm doing here? I came to see you of course."

"It's," he hastily checked his watch, "one o'clock in the morning. What is Hermione Granger, of all people, doing out of bed at one o'clock in the morning?"

She looked slightly embarrassed, and Harry noticed small patches of red appear on her cheeks.

"I… erm… wanted to… God, why is this so hard all of a sudden?"

Harry was utterly perplexed and was about to say something when Hermione stood up.

"I'll… er… see you tomorrow Harry. I've just got to…" And then she left, leaving Harry wondering what in the name of Merlin's beard had just happened.


	2. Parties and Admissions

**Chapter Two**

**Parties and Admissions**

Harry awoke when the sun had risen wondering if what had transpired in the small hours of that morning had all been a dream. Had Hermione really been in to see him at one o'clock? It seemed very unlikely. She knew that he was alive and very well. She knew that she would have been given detention if she'd been caught by a less understanding individual - probably Argus Filch, the caretaker. The odds that Hermione, with her rational mind, would have thought it a good idea to come down in the early hours just to watch him sleep...

Madam Pomfrey brought Harry his breakfast - toast and porridge - and stood by him waiting for him to finish. When the last mouthful of porridge had been swallowed and the last piece of toast devoured she descended on his bandages to check the injury to his side.

"Seems to have healed very nicely, Mr Potter," she said, wearing the same small smile that Harry had seen when he had first woken up. "I think I'll be able to let you go today."

"Excellent," Harry said enthusiastically. He was eager to see everyone. No doubt Fred and George had planned a party for when he re-entered the Gryffindor Common Room. He wanted to congratulate everyone for fighting so well and so bravely. But most of all he wanted to hug Ron and Hermione and tell them how much they meant to him and how grateful he was to both of them for putting up with him during the last few incredibly stressful months.

The hours ticked by, Harry willing them to go faster. He could physically feel his wound healing now, an odd sensation that felt like someone pouring hot water over it but without the wetness. At about ten o'clock, the doors opened and seven people, all of them adults, entered.

"Harry!" came a bark-like shout from one of them. Harry beamed as Sirius Black, his godfather, came rushing over to him and enveloped him in a hug. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine thanks Sirius," Harry replied.

"You see, Sirius," said another of the men, "I told you he'd make a full and speedy recovery."

"So you did Albus," Sirius said, looking at the headmaster, still wearing his smile. "I just couldn't help but think the worst."

"That's how parenting works, Sirius," said the red-haired Arthur Weasley, who stood with his arm around his wife, Molly. "Trust me on that one."

"But I'm not his parent," Sirius said, slightly bemused.

"Yeah you are," Harry said, smiling widely at his godfather. "You're as good as my dad, Sirius."

Sirius's eyes welled up with tears at this and his arms tightened around Harry, who returned the embrace looking slightly shocked at Sirius's reaction but happy nonetheless. There came a sound like a foghorn that jerked both Harry and Sirius back to reality. They looked over to see the gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid stowing a grimy handkerchief back into one the many pockets of his moleskin overcoat.

"Sorry," he muttered through stifled sobs. "Jus' get really emotional an' all."

"Harry," said Remus Lupin, looking like he had a few fresh scars, "Dora and I cannot thank you enough for defeating Greyback and his ilk. They were a terror and an abomination and deserve whatever fates they've met, be it death or Azkaban."

"But, Remus," said Harry, "I thought you didn't believe anyone deserved the Dementors."

At this, Lupin actually laughed.

"Do you really think the Ministry's going to trust the Dementors again Harry? No, no, no. Kinglsey's been made Acting Minister and he's got rid of them all as guards and given the aurors orders to hunt them as vigorously as they are doing the Death Eaters. Hopefully we can drive the Dementors down into the very deepest and darkest places of the world where they can do no further harm to anyone else ever again."

Harry would never be able to tell anyone exactly why, but at that moment a sense of great relief washed over him, as if a Dementor had just left the room. He would probably never have to face one of those repulsive things again.

"Remus, tell him your news," said Tonks softly to her husband. Lupin grinned.

"News?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"I've been reinstated as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Harry," Lupin replied, still grinning. "Of course, Severus isn't too happy about that but when is he ever?"

"Snape?" Harry asked, stunned. "He's still alive?"

"_Professor _Snape, Harry," replied Dumbledore, "is very much alive and has been welcomed back onto the Hogwarts staff. He proved by his actions in the Shrieking Shack that he was with us to the death if need be. We are very fortunate that I was able to reach the Shack quickly enough after Lord Voldemort's departure to stop Severus from losing too much blood and to counteract the effects of Nagini's venom. A few more seconds and he would surely have perished." Dumbledore seemed to shiver at the thought. "You saw his memories, Harry. He would have done anything to protect you for your mother's sake. Can you perhaps learn to trust him?"

Harry felt very uncomfortable. The gazes of everyone else in the room were upon him, awaiting his response to Dumbledore's request.

"I suppose I could, sir," he replied, trying to sound relaxed but failing miserably. Sirius let out a small grunt that was obviously intended to be a derisive laugh. Evidently his own feelings towards Snape had not abated whatsoever.

The seven adults filed out of the room just as Madam Pomfrey returned.

"Don't fret, Poppy," Dumbledore said, soothingly as Madam Pomfrey looked fit to burst at the number of people who had been to see Harry, "we were just leaving."

Madam Pomfrey watched, open mouthed, as Harry's seven visitors each walked past her, before bustling over to Harry's bedside.

"I'll let you out at about five, Potter," she said, busying herself with plumping his pillow.

At five o'clock Harry dressed quickly, eager to get up to Gryffindor Tower and see everybody. He left the Hospital Wing and all but ran up the Grand Staircase to the seventh floor landing where the portrait of the Fat Lady stood, beaming at him.

"You did it, dear," she cried excitedly. "Well done, well done indeed."

Harry smiled at her and was about to give the password when she swung open to admit him.

"No password needed, dear," she said, still smiling. "You've just been through such a terrible and ordeal."

"Erm, thanks," Harry said, and stepped through the portrait hole.

Instantly, a tumult of noise met his ears. Cheering, applause, whistling, the sound of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks, people chanting his name. Harry was quite sure that it wasn't just Gryffindors in here and was proven to be quite correct when he saw Luna Lovegood standing in the crowd, along with Cho Chang, Ernie McMillan, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. Looking around, it seemed to Harry that the only house absent was Slytherin. All the other houses had turned out in their entirety for the party. Harry pointed his wand at his own throat, muttered 'Sonorous' and addressed the room.

"There's no way we'll be able to have a proper party in here," he said, instantly commanding the room's attention. "Everyone follow me."

He walked out of the portrait hole, followed by the immense crowd that had gathered in the Gryffindor Common Room. He led them down a corridor towards what appeared to be a stone wall. When they approached the wall, Harry thought 'I need a room to have a party in' three times in his head and a large wooden door suddenly appeared. He pushed it open and found a large room, easily able to fit in the hundreds of students behind him. Banners of all the Hogwarts houses - except for Slytherin - hung on the walls above a large bar, where a House Elf stood cleaning a glass. This particular elf was wearing a Muggle baseball cap, a dressing gown that trailed along the floor behind him and bright orange sandals that flapped about wildly whenever he walked.

"What would Harry Potter like Dobby to get them to drink?" squeaked the elf. Harry stepped into the room and strode up to the bar, where he embraced Dobby in a hug.

"Are you sure you've got enough butterbeers for all these people, Dobby?" Harry asked. "We don't want anyone going without."

"Dobby is quite sure, Harry Potter sir," the elf replied proudly. "This room is connected to the Hog's Head through a secret passage, Harry Potter sir. Mister Dumbledore has offered every keg he has sir. And there is a lot, Harry Potter sir. There are also the school's own reserves, Harry Potter, and they will not run dry before long."

"That's excellent, Dobby," Harry said, now looking forward to a really good party. "Everyone," he said, loudly, neglecting to use the Sonorous charm, "free drinks all night."

There was a stampede towards the bar as Harry finished speaking, and Harry had to leap out of the way to avoid being trampled. A few seconds later, Fred Weasley came up to him with two butterbeers in his hands.

"Here you go Harry," he said, holding one out to him, "can't have that saviour of the wizarding world getting his own drinks, now can we?"

"Fred, you really didn't-" Harry began in protest, but Fred cut him off.

"There he goes again."

"Moral fibre," George added, joining the conversation.

"Won't even let other people get drinks for him," they said together.

"Harry," said Fred.

"Mate," said George.

"Lighten up," they chorused, before going to rejoin the crowd, now beginning to spill into the rest of the room.

Harry sipped his butterbeer, and was soon joined by Ron and Hermione.

"Is it me or does it seem a bit unlikely that Dobby will be able to handle all these orders on his own?" said Ron, looking concernedly at the elf.

"Hmmm, that's a point," agreed Harry. "Dobby," he called to the elf.

"Yes, Harry Potter?"

"Go down to the kitchens and get the other House Elves up here. I want you and Kreacher to coordinate the others."

There was a loud _crack_, followed very shortly by a very loud chorus of _crack _as Dobby returned with Hogwarts' entire population of House Elves.

"Happy now Ron?" asked Harry, smiling at his best friend.

"Yeah," said Ron, sounding genuinely satisfied. Harry realised that he wasn't quite meeting Ron's eyes.

"Ron, mate, is everything alright?" he asked.

"Harry, look," Hermione said, pointing and giggling like a Second Year. Ron was staring, seemingly transfixed, at Luna Lovegood, who was chatting to Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot and permanently wearing a rather sweet smile. Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder. Ron jerked out of his reverie.

"Huh, what?"

"Go for it mate," Harry said, smiling. Ron pretended to look confused, then looked dismayed.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Fortunately," said Hermione, "she wasn't looking, so you're fine. Just go over and talk to her, Ron."

At this, Ron turned as pale as he had been when he had come to see Harry in the Hospital Wing the previous day.

"Are you mental? You never tell a girl you like her!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Boys," she sighed, exasperated. "Ron, just do it. What have you got to lose?"

"Dignity. Pride. Self-respect."

"You have those?" Harry joked, earning a light punch on the arm from Ron, who was gritting his teeth and looking as though he was readying himself for an assault on a vampire nest.

"Fine, I'll do it. I'll see you back here in twenty seconds when she's rejected me."

But twenty seconds later, Ron was still struggling to get the words out to talk to Luna. Hermione buried her face in Harry's shoulder and gave a small laugh.

"Merlin's beard, this is painful to watch."

"Agreed," replied Harry, struggling to keep from laughing out loud. Eventually, Ron managed actual words. His face was as red as his hair by now and he was shaking from head to toe.

"Oh, what have we done?" Harry said, trying desperately not to break into a laughing fit. "It's like Fourth Year all over again, when he asked Fleur Delacour to go to the Yule Ball."

"No it isn't," said Hermione, and Harry noticed that the humour had gone from her voice. "Harry, look!"

Harry looked from Ron to Luna and saw that she had closed the distance between them dramatically. The next thing he knew, she had wrapped her arms round his neck, stood on tiptoe, and pressed her lips against his.

"So, mumbling incoherently works on you lot does it?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Not on all of us, Mr Potter," she replied. "Come on, let's leave Ronnekins and Loony alone together."

They walked together to one of the tables that had magically appeared along one of the room's walls since people had got drinks and sat down, Hermione placing herself down next to Harry. She took his arm and put it around her.

"Is everything alright Mione?" Harry asked. She had never put his arm around her before.

"I just want to explain about last night," she said. So it hadn't been a dream.

"Go on," said Harry, looking her straight in her deep, brown eyes.

"I was in there because… because…" Once again she struggled to get her words out, just as she had done the night before. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if praying. "Because I wanted to tell you that… I have… feelings for you."


	3. A Good Week

_A/N: This whole chapter, especially the bit with Harry and Hermione at the beginning, is based on a real-life experience._

**Chapter Three**

**A Good Week**

Harry sat there, stunned. Hermione Granger, his best friend of seven years and the most wonderful person he knew, had feelings for him?

"Wh… what?" he stammered. Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, Merlin. Why is this so hard?" she said, despair creeping into her voice.

"Fear of rejection," Harry said, watching her run her hands through her hair in her anxiety. "Don't do that," he said, taking her hands. "You're ruining your hair. I assume that still matters to girls?"

Hermione gave a small laugh.

"Yeah, it does," she admitted. She turned to look at him. "Merlin, I like your eyes," she said softly. "There's so much power in them."

"Really?" asked Harry, disbelievingly. "I've never much liked them."

"I love them," she breathed. "Always have."

Harry would never be able to explain precisely why he did what he did next. He cupped Hermione's right cheek with his hand and leaned in to kiss her. Harry was half surprised when she leaned in too. Their lips met, and Harry immediately wondered why he'd never kissed Hermione before. It was obvious now that they were doing it that they had always been heading for this moment. He intensified it, running his fingers through Hermione's hair. She traced the line where his hair gave way to his neck with one of her dainty, feminine index fingers before throwing her arms around his neck, just as Luna had done with Ron.

All too soon, they broke apart.

"That was… um…" Hermione stammered.

"Unexpected?" Harry suggested.

"That," Hermione agreed. "But also… um…"

"Fun?" Harry said, giving her a mischievous grin.

"Very," she replied, giving him a flirtatious look.

Harry kissed her again, short and sweet this time.

"Is that us now?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" She looked genuinely confused. Harry rolled his eyes, imitating her actions moments prior.

"Are we an item now?" he asked.

"Oh, Harry, I don't know about that," she said, and she sounded conflicted. Harry couldn't help but wonder why. "Let me think about it."

"Alright," he replied, trying to keep his intense disappointment out of his voice. "Well, you know what answer I'm hoping for," he said, still trembling slightly. "Just tell me, Mione, have I got reason to be optimistic?"

She nodded and smiled at him before getting up and going to talk to Lavender Brown and the Patil twins.

"So," came a voice from behind Harry, "you and Hermione eh?"

Harry turned to look at the speaker. It was Fred, with George stood next to him.

"I don't know," replied Harry. The twins' faces fell and became a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

"Don't know?" George said, incredulously.

"But Harry," Fred said, speaking as though stating the obvious.

"You were just kissing her," they said together, both wearing the same look of frustration.

"I know I was," Harry said, looking at them blankly. "But she says she needs to think about it."

"Fred?" said George.

"I'm on it," said Fred, and he dashed over to where Hermione was standing. Harry buried his face in his hands, determined that he would not look over at them. He didn't want Hermione to think that he had asked Fred to do this. Moments later, Fred returned.

"What did she say?" George asked eagerly.

"I just told her that we thought that she and Harry would make a great couple," Fred replied, grinning. "Then Lavender, Parvati and Padma all agreed with me. Hermione turned scarlet and muttered something about not wanting to mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Harry and George asked together. What could 'it' be? Their friendship? A possible relationship? Her schoolwork, perhaps? That did seem like a very Hermione-ish thing to be concerned about.

"No idea," replied Fred, shrugging. "But I and the girls all made our feelings known. And Hermione definitely has feelings for you, Harry. We've all been able to see that for years."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. He had never considered Hermione to be anything more than his friend until a few moments ago.

"Of course," George cried, enthusiastically. "I mean, have you ever had a fight?"

"Yes, actually," Harry admitted. The twins' mouths fell open.

"When?" they asked together, clearly deeply shocked.

"Third Year," Harry replied. "When she told McGonagall that she thought my Firebolt might have been given to me by Sirius." Right as usual, Harry thought to himself. "McGonagall confiscated my broom. Wood was ready to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower when I told him. How do you two not remember this?"

"A lot's happened since then, Harry," Fred said, shrugging. "We find it hard to remember childish fights from four years ago that didn't involve us and took very little time to resolve. Hard to believe, I know, but that's the way it is."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at Fred's words.

"What we're saying is," said George, continuing the conversation's earlier thread, "you and Hermione have been a couple in everyone else's eyes for years. Ron wanted her too for a bit but he got over her and now look at him," George gestured to where Ron was still eating Luna's face. "Or rather, don't. It actually makes me a little bit sick." All three of them grimaced.

"So basically mate, she's all yours." Fred said, smiling.

Is she though, Harry couldn't help but wonder. He knew that a lot of men also fancied Hermione and Harry wasn't completely sure what her feelings were towards them. Some of them were, after all, far more attractive than he was.

"Come on Harry," the twins said together. "Come and rejoin the party."

When Harry awoke the next morning, it took him a while to get accustomed to the sheer comfort of his four-poster bed. Months of sleeping in a tent, even a tent with beds, had caused him to completely forget what the Hogwarts beds truly felt like. He seriously wondered for a moment whether he'd ever be able to get up or whether he'd simply lie in this bed forever.

In the next bed, Ron was snoring loudly. Harry checked the clock on his bedside table. It was seven o'clock in the morning. Merlin's beard, why was he awake so early? He rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to get back to sleep but after ten minutes had to admit defeat. As quietly as possible, he got up and dressed. Then he descended the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. Fully expecting to be the only one awake, Harry was very surprised to find Hermione reclined on one of the sofas in front of the fireplace.

"You're an early bird," Harry said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione replied.

Harry felt slightly awkward as he walked over to her and sat next to her.

"How come?" he asked, determinedly looking her in the eyes. Her deep, brown eyes.

"I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss," she replied, somewhat shyly. Harry's heart leapt but he was determined not to get his hopes up. "It was… so amazing," she said in barely more than a whisper. "I hope it's just as good next time."

Harry searched desperately for words.

"Next time?" he stammered. "There's going to be a next time?"

She smiled widely at him.

"Yeah," she said, "I think there is."

Harry's head was spinning as he tried to get his head around what she was saying. There would be more kisses. Did that mean she'd made her mind up? Were they together now?

"Merlin's beard, Harry," she said, laughing a little, "I don't think I've ever seen you like this." She leaned over and kissed him. "Just as good," she whispered. "In answer to your question last night, Harry, we are now an item."

Harry could have jumped into the air cheering and danced around the room. Instead, he contented himself with smiling the biggest smile that had ever crossed his face and kissing Hermione with the same kind of passion as he had done the night before.

"This has been a pretty good week," he said when they broke apart. "2nd of May, I kill Voldemort, 5th of May I regain consciousness, have the party of my life _and_ kiss you, 6th of May we're together."

Hermione giggled and cupped his face in her hands.

"You really do make me laugh, Harry," she said. "Just one of the many reasons I fell for you."

"Oh yeah?" said Harry, leaning back and adopting the tone of an arrogant person, yet all the while making it clear that he was joking. "What are the others?"

"Hmm, let's see," said Hermione, pretending to have to think hard about her answer, "you're the most wonderful person I know. You are just gorgeous." She eyed him hungrily for a second. "You just tick all my boxes," she finished, playfully. Harry took her hand and locked their fingers together.

"You tick all of mine too, Mione," he said, smiling at her. They kissed again. "Fancy some breakfast?" Harry asked.

"I fancy some Potter," Hermione replied, flirtatiously, "but I've already got myself some of that."


	4. First Date

_A/N: I would like to thank all the people who have read this story (there are nearly 1000 of you in three days. Oh. My. God.) and enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed for saying such lovely things and thank you to everyone who has put both this story and myself on their alerts and favourites lists._

**Chapter Four**

**First Date**

The next few days passed in a blur for Harry and Hermione and before they knew it, exam season had arrived to loom over the school. Not that either Harry or Hermione - or Ron for that matter - had to take any exams. Professor McGonagall had personally said as much to them.

"I think it's safe to say," she had said, about a week after Harry had regained consciousness, "that you three could have any job you wanted. Exams would now be an unnecessary formality."

Harry and Ron had literally cheered at this, although Hermione had looked slightly crestfallen. McGonagall had noticed.

"You may be the only student I have ever taught, Miss Granger," she had said, with an uncharacteristic smile, "for whom the thought of having no exams is an unpleasant one."

Hermione had blushed at that. Harry put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.

"Wouldn't have you any other way," he had said, making her smile up at him. McGonagall lowered her spectacles down her nose and peered at them.

"There is a time and a place," she said, curtly.

"Sorry, professor," Harry muttered, smirking.

"You've got to feel sorry for me, professor," Ron had said. "I have to put up with this all the time."

"From what I understand, Mr Weasley, you are keeping yourself quite distracted with a certain Miss Lovegood." Ron looked stunned and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Harry and Hermione smirked at his obvious discomfort before Professor McGonagall turned her gaze back on them.

"As I was saying before I was distracted," she said, "there is no need for any of you three to take exams. Both the school and the Ministry have already recognised your outstanding abilities and have deemed NEWT qualifications unnecessary. However, Miss Granger, if you wish to sit the exams you may."

Hermione smiled at this and looked up at Harry with large eyes.

"Yes, I'll help you revise," Harry said as though admitting defeat. Hermione ruffled his hair playfully.

The three of them left McGonagall's office and Hermione turned to Harry.

"Fancy a walk?" she asked him. Asking was just a formality; Harry and Hermione had taken a walk together nearly every day since they had got together.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Hogsmeade?" she suggested. Harry was a little shocked.

"Usually it's just a stroll around the grounds," he said, confused. "Why do you want to go to Hogsmeade?"

"Are you familiar, Mr Potter," she said, tracing his chest with her index finger, "with the concept of a date?"

Harry suddenly became quite nervous.

"Well… erm… yes," he said, swallowing between his words, "but I've only ever been on one and that didn't go very well."

"I'm not Cho Chang," Hermione said, soothingly. "I won't be asking about Cedric's death and crying my eyes out." She kissed his cheek lightly. "It'll be fun, Harry, I'll make sure of it."

Half an hour later, Harry found himself hand-in-hand with Hermione walking down the main street through Hogsmeade.

"It's weird," Harry said, quietly. "Just over a week ago this place was swarming with Death Eaters and Dementors. Now it seems life's back to normal."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, smiling around at the village. "Where do you fancy going?"

"Three Broomsticks," Harry replied, giving the first thing that came into his head.

"Three Broomsticks it is then," Hermione said, linking her arm with hers and resting her head on his shoulder as they walked towards the pub.

The moment they walked into the pub, they were greeted with cheers and applause. It reminded Harry of when he had walked into the Gryffindor Common Room after being released from the Hospital Wing. One of the patrons came over to Harry and shook his hand vigorously.

"You did it, Mr Potter," he said enthusiastically. Harry realised that he knew this man. It was Dedalus Diggle, complete with top hat and pocket watch. "You saved us all. And might I say," he added, "not a moment too soon. Your uncle really was becoming most frightful. Hestia and I were having to modify his memory several times a week by Easter. Dreadful man, no offence."

"Absolutely none taken, Dedalus," Harry said, laughing. "I happen to agree with you."

Dedalus shook Harry's hand, doffed his hat to Hermione, and bounced back to the bar.

"I did wonder what had happened to him," Harry said, watching as Dedalus bounced away. "I'm glad he survived."

Harry and Hermione found a table and sat down.

"Still nervous?" Hermione asked him, their hands clasped together.

"No, actually," Harry said, smiling. "Now that I'm here with you, on our own, it's easy." He beamed at her. "Right as usual Miss Granger."

"You should know me well enough by now, Potter," she joked, "to know that I'm _always _right."

"I've been told that as your boyfriend I have to think that anyway," Harry said, remembering a piece of advice that Dean Thomas had given to both him and Ron three days previously. Dean had, essentially, put them through a crash course on how to be a boyfriend.

The landlady of the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta, came over to their table.

"What can I get you dears?" she asked. "Anything you like, on the house."

"Oh, no, Madam Rosmerta," Harry protested. "We couldn't-"

Madam Rosmerta cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Harry Potter and his friends don't pay in my pub," she said, firmly. "Now, two butterbeers is it?"

They placed their orders and turned back to each other as Madam Rosmerta returned to her bar.

"So," Hermione said, making it obvious she was going to ask a question, "how's our first week as a couple been for you?"

Harry didn't even have to think about his answer.

"Utterly fantastic," he replied. Hermione gave him a dazzling smile before leaning over and kissing him.

"How about you?" Harry asked after they broke apart. "What have you thought about our first week together?"

"I'm going to take your answer," Hermione said, miming grabbing onto something, "and make it my own."

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"It really has been something, hasn't it?" he said.

Hermione was just about to answer when Madam Rosmerta arrived with two pints of butterbeer.

"Here you go dears," she said. "Enjoy your afternoon."

"Do you think she was listening in?" Hermione joked. "I answer to your question, Harry, yeah it really has. And I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Harry could not have smiled wider if he had tried to.

"Nor would I," he said, his voice deeper than it usually was. They looked into each other's eyes for a long time.

"Your eyes are so gorgeous," Harry said, wanting to lose himself in Hermione's deep brown eyes.

"So are yours," Hermione whispered. "They're so… immersive."

"Never heard that before," Harry chuckled. He raised Hermione's hand to his lips and gently pressed them against it. Hermione blushed slightly but smiled nonetheless.

"So romantic," she said, pretending to be short of breath.

"I try," Harry replied, shrugging as though romanticism was second nature to him. In reality he was improvising wildly.

"You succeed," Hermione replied. She checked her watch. "We should probably be heading back, Harry. It's dinner in about forty minutes. It'll take us half an hour to walk back up."

"Why do we need to go back?" Harry asked, wanting desperately to spend more time with Hermione. "We could just eat here."

"Ron needs some form of company while he does that messy impression of eating," Hermione said, giggling slightly. "I don't think even Luna could face that alone."

Harry laughed, took Hermione's hand, and walked out of the pub.


	5. Leaving

_A/N: The term 'mate's rates' appears in this chapter. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with this phrase, this means a discount for friends._

**Chapter Five**

**Leaving**

The next few weeks passed in a blaze of sunshine. It was though the weather had decided to join in celebrating Voldemort's demise. Hermione's exams came and went as May gave way to June and the final days of term approached. Professor Dumbledore had decided that the school should close a month earlier than usual so that the students could take a well-deserved long break over the summer. Of course, for the Seventh Years, that meant that their final term at Hogwarts was a month shorter than it would have been and emotions were beginning to show.

"I can't believe we'll be leaving soon," Lavender Brown had sniffed one late night in the Gryffindor Common Room. All the Seventh Year Gryffindors were gathered round the fireplace swigging butterbeer and remembering their seven – or in the case of Harry, Ron and Hermione, six – years at the school. "I mean," she said, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, "it's been our second home for so long." She broke down sobbing, and Seamus wrapped his arms around her.

"First home for me," Harry said. "I couldn't stand living with the Dursleys."

Hermione gave him a pitying look and squeezed his hand.

"Are they really that bad?" Parvati Patil had asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes," Harry and Ron had said, together.

"Not my cousin so much anymore," Harry had conceded. "And I suppose even my aunt might have softened up now. But my uncle definitely wouldn't have cared if I'd died at any point in the last sixteen years."

Harry looked around at the faces of the other seven and saw them all giving him the same look of mixed shock, horror and pity.

"Don't feel too sorry for me, guys," he said, trying desperately to lighten the mood a bit. "I'm free now. I'll be living with Sirius. I'll have a proper home."

This seemed to cheer everyone up slightly, and they sat talking about their time at Hogwarts for another few hours. At about three o'clock in the morning, Seamus checked his watch.

"Merlin," he said, when he had seen that late had now become early. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone."

"Actually, mate," said Dean, "I think I'll turn in as well."

"Yeah, me too," said Neville, standing up and stretching.

"My bed calls and I answer," said Ron, rubbing his eyes like a small child.

"We will too," Lavender said, gesturing to herself and Parvati. "Hermione?"

"No, you go on," she said. "Harry and I will stay here for a bit longer."

"But Hermione-" Harry began to protest but stopped short when he saw Hermione's pointed look. "Oh fine. Night you lot."

Everyone but Harry and Hermione climbed their respective staircases. Hermione waited until they had heard two doors shutting before speaking.

"Listen, Harry," she said, talking quietly so as not to wake anyone up, "I've been thinking about my parents."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said, sitting up so that Hermione didn't think he was falling asleep. "You thinking of going to Australia and modifying their memories?"

"Exactly," Hermione said. "And I was wondering if you would want to come with me. Meet my family and spend the summer with me."

"Of course." Harry didn't even need to think about his answer. Hermione looked slightly taken aback.

"Are you sure?" she asked him. "You don't want to sleep on it or talk it over with Sirius?"

"No," Harry said, and was slightly amazed himself at finding that he was being perfectly truthful. "I know that I want to do this with you. I want to be there when you find your parents and I want to spend lots of time with you."

Hermione beamed at him and wrapped her arms around him before pressing her lips against his.

"Consider that a thank you," she said. "Now, I'm going to be bed."

"Why?" Harry asked, disappointed. "Sure you won't stay for just a little more kissing?"

"Very," Hermione said, running her fingers through his hair. "It'll leave you hungry for more tomorrow." She winked at him, blew him a kiss and headed off up the girls' staircase. After watching her go, Harry went up to his own dormitory.

The next morning came, bringing with it the final day at Hogwarts for the Seventh Years, all of whom were quite gloomy and subdued at breakfast. Even Luna's presence couldn't cheer them up, although she did take Ron's mind off things for a while.

"Put her down, Ron," Ginny said as she walked past. Ron blushed fiercely and glared at Ginny as she sat down next to Dean and kissed him.

"And you tell me to 'put Luna down'," Ron said, sounding as though he'd bitten into a lemon.

"Honestly Ron," Ginny said, exasperated. "That was just a peck. I wasn't eating his face."

Ron turned towards his breakfast and glowered at it as he ate. Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he clapped Ron on the shoulder.

"She's only having a wind-up, mate," he said before starting on his own bacon and sausages.

The morning passed far too quickly for the Seventh Years' liking, and before they knew it eleven o'clock was upon them. As everyone was hauling their trunks into the luggage compartments aboard the Hogwarts Express, Harry suddenly became aware of a warmth spreading on his arm. Looking down he saw that it was Hermione, crying into his shoulder. He turned and enveloped her in a hug, kissing the top of her head.

"I know," he said, soothingly. "I'm going to miss this place too."

They found a compartment, and were soon joined by Ron, Luna, Dean, Ginny and Neville. As the train pulled away, all of them but Luna and Ginny waved a final farewell to the castle, visible even from Hogsmeade station.

"And so the next chapter of our lives begins," Dean said. "What do you reckon you'll all do?"

"Well me and Ron have already got places on the auror training course," Harry said, slightly abashed.

"And the Minister's offered to give me a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Hermione said. "He thinks it'll be a good chance to reform the living conditions of house elves."

"Thinking of making SPEW a government department now are you?" Ron joked.

"Oh ha ha," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"What about you Dean?" Harry asked, steering the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

"Me and Seamus have bought premises in Diagon Alley and we're going to open a pub," Dean replied. "I think it's high time the Leaky Cauldron had some competition, don't you?"

Everyone laughed.

"What are you going to call the pub?" Neville asked.

"I want to call it the Dead Death Eater," Dean said, "but Seamus overruled me. We've decided on the Dancing Leprechaun."

"Telling them about the pub?" came Seamus's voice as the door slid open. "What do you think of the name?"

"Very Irish," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Seamus grinned.

"So when are you opening?" Hermione asked.

"Eager to get a butterbeer down at you at mates' rates, Hermione?" Dean asked. "In answer to your question, we should be open in a fortnight."

"That's quick," Luna observed.

"We've already done most of the ground work," Seamus admitted. "We've been securing the premises, the licence and the food and drink ever since You-Know-Who died."

"Well," said Harry, "we should be back about a week after you open."

The others all looked at Harry, puzzled. Harry glanced at Hermione, who nodded.

"Right after the Death Eaters broke into Hogwarts at the end of last year, me, Hermione and Ron made plans to go and find a way to kill Voldemort." There were shudders and winces at the sound of the name. "Merlin's pants," Harry said, exasperated, before continuing. "Anyway, before we went we all made sure that our families would be safe. I sent mine into hiding, Ron replaced himself with his family's ghoul and Hermione... Well Hermione did what many people would find totally impossible. She modified her parents' memories so that they forgot about her completely and moved to Australia." He paused to look at Hermione, who looked sad but was by no means on the verge of breaking down into hysterics. "Anyway, now that the danger has passed, Hermione and I are going to go to Australia, find her parents, and return their memories."

There was a stunned silence. Luna and Ginny were looking at Hermione with a mixture of shock and admiration while Dean, Seamus and Neville were totally in awe of Harry's story. Ron looked totally relaxed, and was the first to speak.

"Do you know where in Australia they are?" he asked. Hermione looked at him, stunned. It was rare for Ron to ask so practical a question.

"Yes," she said, her voice cracking slightly from lack of use – or possibly sadness. "They live in a house on the outskirts of Adelaide, right on the beach. It's where they always talked about going when I was younger."

"So that's where we're going," Harry said. "We're leaving tomorrow. We're just going to drop our stuff off at Sirius's new house, stay there for the night, and we're going tomorrow morning."

"Well I really hope you find them," Ginny said, hugging Hermione too.

"Me too, Hermione," Luna said, also hugging her.

In turn, everyone in the compartment hugged Hermione and when the final person – Neville – let her go, Harry could see tears in her eyes.

"Thank you so much everyone," she said, fighting to keep the tears back. "That means so much to me."

Harry put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that their eyes met.

"We will find them, okay?" he said, looking her straight in the eyes.

"Thank you Harry," she said, giving him a small smile.

They passed the rest of the train journey talking, playing exploding snap and devouring the copious amount of sweets that they bought when the lunch trolley came round. At around six o'clock the train pulled into Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station. Everyone gathered their luggage and walked out of the train. Waiting for them was a crowd of parents, older and younger siblings and other family members.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to where the shout had come from and saw Sirius walking toward him, his long hair hanging neatly around his smiling face.

"Sirius!" Harry said, walking quickly towards his godfather. "Is it just you?"

"No," said Sirius, gesturing behind him where half a dozen more wizards and witches stood, watching them. "Madeye, Tonks, Arthur, Molly, Fred and George are all here too. Was Remus on the train?"

"Here I am, Sirius," came Lupin's voice from behind Harry. "I think Hermione's showing the others to where we are."

Sure enough, they heard Hermione's voice from behind them.

"There you are!"

She, Ron, Luna and Ginny walked up to Harry, Sirius and Lupin and then the seven of them walked towards the waiting group.

"Remus!" shouted Tonks, as she ran forward and threw her arms around her husband.

"Hello Dora," Lupin said, smiling widely. "Where's my little boy and what colour was his hair when you left?"

"At my mum's," Tonks replied, "and bright green. We could go right now if you want."

Lupin's face seemed to become physically brighter.

"Yes please," he said, smiling down at Tonks. "Sirius, we'll see you all later."

The two men embraced before Lupin and Tonks linked arms and apparated away.

"Hello Harry dear," said Mrs Weasley when Harry reached her, pulling him into a motherly hug. "How are you? Not seen you since you were in the Hospital Wing."

"Fully recovered," Harry said to her, wearing a slightly embarrassed smile. He was very aware of Fred and George watching him, and it dawned on Harry that they still didn't know what had happened with Hermione after the party. When Mrs Weasley released him, he walked over to them.

"We never did find out," Fred said.

"What happened with Hermione," finished George.

"The morning after the party," Harry started, "I found Hermione in the Gryffindor Common Room. After a short conversation, she said that we were together."

"Yes!" the twins shouted together. They both gave Hermione very knowing looks as she walked over to Harry.

"What's got in to you two?" she asked.

"I've just told them what happened the morning after the party," Harry explained. Hermione took his hand.

"Yes, I came to my senses and realised I didn't have to think about it at all," she said to the twins, though she was smiling at Harry.

"Told you," Fred said to Hermione, winking.

"And I hear Ron is still with Luna," George said, saying the words as though he was surprised. "I'm amazed she hasn't recovered the use of her eyes yet."

Harry and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Fortunately, Ron was not around to hear them; he was stood with Luna and, as usual, they were locked in a passionate kiss.

"Did they ever actually stop?" George asked, watching the couple with disgust. "Merlin's beard."

"They'll get over it," Hermione said. "Eventually."

"Oi! Ron!" Fred shouted over. "You coming home or what?"

Ron managed to pull himself away from Luna and stared daggers at Fred.

"Just give us a minute, okay?" he shouted back.

"Ron, I don't think these good people deserve to be subjected to another minute of this," George shouted. "If you can put her down for just one second, that's all we need."

Ron and Luna walked over, hand-in-hand. The Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Sirius and Luna all linked arms, turned on the spot simultaneously and seconds later landed in a grassy field. Looking across the field, Harry could see the Burrow, no more than two-hundred meters away. He smiled to himself. Everything was back to normal.


	6. Finding Them

_A/N: Thank you to all of the people who've read this story. I was bowled over when I saw how many thousands of hits this story has had in under a week._

**Chapter Six**

**Finding Them**

The remainder of the day passed in what felt like minutes. After visiting the Burrow for a few minutes, Harry, Hermione and Sirius had all apparated to Sirius's new house, a large building overlooking a small village about thirty miles from London. They had been given a tour of the house before the old Order of the Phoenix arrived. There had been a party of sorts, at which a slightly tipsy Sirius had insisted on toasting Harry and his defeat of Voldemort. Harry had sat there looking embarrassedly bemused by the whole thing.

"Er... thanks Sirius," he said when Sirius had sat back down in his chair in a heap.

After the party Harry and Hermione had gone up to the bedroom that Sirius had allocated to them. Harry had initially been quite surprised that Sirius was allowing them to share a room.

"You're both adults," Sirius had said when Harry had expressed his surprise, "and I trust you both not to do anything you'll regret."

Sirius had decorated the room with Gryffindor banners. Red and gold totally encircled the large double bed – which had been spared the Gryffindor colours in favour of maroon – that stood in the centre of the room. Hermione flopped down on it, clearly exhausted.

"Tired?" Harry asked, stating the obvious.

"Extremely," she replied. "I'm going to warn you now, I will be extremely moody in the morning."

Harry laughed.

"You won't be even a millionth as moody as my uncle," he said.

"No, I suppose not," Hermione conceded. "But I'll reward you with a three week holiday if you still want to come to Australia with me when you've experienced early morning Hermione."

"Mione," Harry said, sitting down next to her, "I've just spent eight months wandering the country with you in a tent. I know what you're like when you've had very little sleep."

If Hermione hadn't been so tired she would have laughed. As it was she only smiled as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Harry leant over her and lightly kissed her lips.

"You need to change for bed, Mione. You don't want to fall asleep in your clothes."

It seemed to require great effort but Hermione somehow managed to get up, go over to her wardrobe and pull out a nightdress. It was a red silk thing, and had Harry been a less moral man he would have suggested that they consummate their relationship right then and there. As it was, he swallowed but remained silent as Hermione walked back to the bed, pulled back the duvet and slid underneath. Harry watched her for a few seconds before turning his back to her and pulling his t-shirt off, followed by his jeans. Reaching into a draw in his bedside table, Harry pulled out a pair of pyjama trousers, donned them, and followed Hermione into the bed.

"Night Mione," Harry said as he took his glasses off and placed them on the bedside table. He was met with silence. Hermione had already fallen asleep. Harry smiled to himself, kissed her forehead lightly, and was soon asleep.

When Hermione woke up, she was pleasantly surprised to feel Harry's arm around her. Turning, she saw her boyfriend fast asleep next to her and smiled. He really was the most handsome man she had ever met, and she was disappointed that she couldn't see his eyes. She eyed his muscles before reaching out and touching them. In his sleep, Harry moved slightly. Hermione moved her hand and wondered if she should wake him up. Nervously, she leaned over and kissed his lips gently. Harry's eyes fluttered open and she broke away, regretting her choice of wake-up call.

"Why did you stop?" Harry asked, sounding disappointed.

"Because I wasn't sure if you liked it," she admitted, her voice quiet. Harry resumed the kiss before pulling away after several minutes.

"Come on," he said, sounding as though the words pained him. "We've got to get dressed. Our portkey leaves in an hour."

They washed, dressed and made breakfast as quietly as they could; Sirius was still asleep. They left him a note saying that they would stay safe in Australia and see him in three weeks. Then they left the house, walking hand-in-hand towards a forest that stood near Sirius's house.

"Where exactly is the portkey?" Hermione asked.

"In the first clearing we should come to," replied Harry, hoping sincerely that what Sirius had told him was accurate. He could think of no reason why it wouldn't be, but he still worried.

It turned out that his fears were completely unfounded. When they reached a clearing, after about ten minutes of walking north from the house, they found what looked like an empty can of baked beans standing in the middle of the tree-free circle. Harry checked his watch.

"One minute to go," he said. Both he and Hermione put their hands on the can. "Just so you know, Mione," Harry said, taking advantage of the limited time he had, "I'm going to do everything I can to help you find your parents."

She smiled at him.

"Thanks Harry," she replied, just as Harry felt the hook behind his navel and spun rapidly in the air. Seconds later, he found himself slamming down onto the ground. He checked his watch. It said it was five o'clock. That had been the time when they had left.

"Hermione, how far ahead of Britain is Adelaide?"

"Nine and a half hours," Hermione replied. "So you'll want to change your watch to half-past two. Don't be surprised if you feel slightly overwhelmed by the time difference."

Harry did. He had missed almost half of an entire day, after all.

"Next step, find- what are their names now?"

"Wendell and Monica Wilkins," Hermione replied. A passing man stopped in his tracks.

"Excuse me," he said, in a thick Australian accent, "did you say you're looking for Wendell and Monica Wilkins?"

"Yes," replied Hermione. "Do you know them?"

"Yeah, I work with them at the dental practice," replied the man. He seemed to grow suspicious. "But why do you want to know?"

"I'm their daughter," replied Hermione.

"They never mentioned a daughter," the man said, his suspicion growing.

"We've never really got on," Hermione said. Harry had to admit that she was a good actress. The man seemed to believe her anyway.

"And who are you?" he asked Harry. "Her being their daughter I'll believe – she does look quite like Monica – but you're definitely not any relation."

"No, I'm her boyfriend," Harry replied, taking Hermione's hand to reinforce his statement. The man appeared to believe him.

"Do you need their address?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied. The man wrote down the address on a piece of paper that Hermione pulled out of her pocket, wished them luck, and continued on his way.

"17 Cook Road," Hermione said. "Any ideas?"

"Well," Harry said, slowly, looking up and down the road they had landed on. "I can see a road sign up there that definitely reads 'Cook Road'. We could try there."

They all but ran over to the road sign and looked at the numbers on the houses.

"One, two, three," Hermione counted as they walked down the street. "Ten, eleven, twelve." She counted silently from then on until finally arriving at, "seventeen."

"Are you ready?" Harry asked. Hermione didn't answer immediately. It was though there was a time delay between Harry saying the words and them registering in Hermione's brain.

"Yeah," she said, after a minute or two. She walked up to the house and knocked on the door three times. For a moment there was no answer.

"Maybe they're not in," Hermione said, sounding more nervous than Harry had ever known her to be. "Or maybe-"

She was cut short by the door opening. A woman stood there. A woman that Harry had seen once before, nearly six years ago, in Diagon Alley. It was Hermione's mother

"Yes?" she asked. Hermione said nothing for a short while. She simply stood there, trembling slightly. Harry, sensing that Hermione was in danger of having the door shut in her face, bounded next to her and put his arm around her.

"Hi," he said, forcing himself to sound as friendly as possible, "we've just moved in up the road." He prayed that there had been a house for sale. When the woman showed no sign of shock he continued. "And we'd just like to meet our new neighbours. I can't tell you how glad we are that we aren't the only Brits here. Anyway, my girlfriend here is a little – well very, actually – shy around new people. Just to explain the trembling. Anyway, my name's Harry and this is Hermione."

Hermione's mother shook both their hands in turn.

"Wendell," she called back into the house, "new neighbours at the door."

A man that Harry recognised as Hermione's father came to the front door.

"Hello," he said, smiling at them and shaking their hands, "I'm Wendell Wilkins. I see you've already met my wife Monica."

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry, "and this is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger. We've just moved in up the road."

"Jeff and Sarah's old house, I think," said Hermione's mother to her husband.

"Well come in, come in," said Hermione's father, still smiling. He stepped aside to let them in the house. The moment that the door closed behind them, Hermione drew her wand.

"Obliviate reversum," she said, pointing her wand at her parents. Their expressions transformed from fear, to confusion to recognition in the space of a few seconds.

"Hermione?" Mrs Granger asked, cupping her daughter's cheek in one of her hands. "What- where-"

"Come and sit down, mum," Hermione said through tears. "There's a lot that needs to be explained."


	7. Revelations, Romanticism and Returning

_A/N: I would like to apologise for not posting yesterday. Fate conspired against me and I was unable to get to a computer. As a sorry for not posting, and as a thank you for being so patient, you can have a nice, long chapter now. Enjoy._

**Chapter Seven**

**Revelations, Romanticism and Returning**

Hermione's father led them into the living room, which was comfortably decorated with books on almost every shelf. Harry couldn't help but smile to himself. So that was where Hermione got it. There were books on dentistry, but Harry also saw Muggle names he recognised. Dickens, Tolkein, Lewis, Shakespeare. Their copy of Shakespeare's _The Winter's Tale _looked well thumbed. It seemed to be no coincidence that there was a character named Hermione in it.

The three Grangers and Harry sat down and a silence descended for a few seconds. It was broken by Hermione.

"Last September," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "I modified your memories. For the last nine months you've thought that your names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins and you've had no idea that I even existed."

Mrs Granger clapped her hands over her mouth and looked to be about to break down into sobs. Mr Granger put a comforting arm around her.

"But why, darling?" he inquired of Hermione.

"I was protecting you," Hermione replied. "Do you remember I told you about Voldemort?" Both her parents nodded. "Well if you'd still been around you would have been in serious danger. You would have been anyway, being Muggles, but being my parents would have put you near the top of Voldemort's hit list. But in Australia you were safe from all that. And now it's over and you can come home," she finished, smiling.

"One question," said Mr Granger, who appeared to have accepted Hermione's story. "Who's he?" He pointed to Harry.

"That's Harry, dad," Hermione replied, taking Harry's hand for the first time since they had arrived at the house. "My boyfriend."

"I've heard a lot about you, Harry," said Mr Granger, walking over to him. "From what Hermione's said, you're the only reason she's still here."

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm and was about to speak when Mr Granger proffered his hand.

"So what kind of father would I be if I didn't like Hermione's new boyfriend?"

"Really, Mr Granger-" Harry began, but Mr Granger cut him off.

"Please, call me Richard," Mr Granger said as Harry shook his hand. He saw Hermione smiling at them before she turned her eyes towards her mother, who had not said a word since before Hermione had started speaking.

"Mum?" she asked, sitting down next to her mother. "Are you alright?"

"It's just a little overwhelming," Mrs Granger admitted, staring into space as she spoke. "I've missed nine months of my life. What happened to the practice?"

"You sold it, mum," Hermione replied. "But it's okay," she added quickly, sensing that her mother would not take this news well, "the Ministry of Magic can sort everything out so you can come back to work the moment you get home."

There seemed to be a time delay between Hermione saying the words and them registering in her mother's brain, for it took a few seconds for Mrs Granger to react to the words.

"Good," she said, quietly, sounding rather distracted, good. Hermione gave her father a worried look. Richard Granger walked over to his wife and crouched down so they were at eye level.

"Sophie," he said, quietly and slowly, "is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Sophie Granger replied, looking her husband in the eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a bit of time to get used to it all."

"Okay," Richard said in barely more than a whisper. "Hermione," he said, turning to his daughter, "how soon can we be home?"

"Well Harry and I are planning to spend three weeks here," Hermione said. "We're on holiday."

"Holiday?" Richard sounded wary. "How long have you been together?"

"A month," Hermione replied. Harry sensed that it was better to let her answer the questions. He had never met a girlfriend's parents before and was worried of falling foul of some form of unwritten protocol.

"Only a month and you're going to take a holiday together?" Richard raised an eyebrow and gave Harry a look of suspicion.

"Dad," Hermione said, her tone suggesting that she could sense danger, "it's fine. Harry's a good guy. He'd never do anything to hurt me. Never," she added firmly. Richard didn't drop his gaze from Harry but seemed to lose his air of suspicion. Beware the girlfriend's father, Harry thought to himself.

"Where are you and Harry going to stay, darling?" Sophie asked.

"Well... erm... we thought that we'd maybe stay here. That's if you're okay with that," she said, hastily. "If you want to just go home then we can find a hotel."

Richard's eyes had lit up at the prospect of having Harry and Hermione stay with them. Doubtless he wanted to ensure that Harry could do nothing untoward to his daughter. Harry sighed to himself.

"This is going to be a long three weeks," he muttered.

**Two weeks later**

Hermione emerged from the sea, dripping wet and her swimming costume clinging to her. Harry smiled to himself, very glad that neither Sophie nor Richard was around. Both liked Harry and thought that Hermione had made a good choice of boyfriend, but Harry doubted very much that Richard would appreciate him staring at Hermione like this.

"Like what you see?" Hermione asked, flirtatiously.

"Very much," replied Harry, winking. Hermione giggled and lay down next to him on the beach towel they were sharing. Harry took the chance to tickle her and the two engaged in a tickle fight that became a passionate kiss.

"I love you," Harry said. Hermione stared at him, looking both shocked. Harry realised a split-second later why; they had never said those words to each other before. Hermione continued to stare. Harry wished she'd say something, anything, so that he would know how she felt about this admission.

"You... you what?" she stammered. Harry breathed in deeply.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, his face showing no emotion other than what he hoped was utter sincerity. For a second, Hermione did nothing. Then, to Harry's great delight and relief, she all but screamed with happiness and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips against his.

"I love you too Harry," she said, beaming at him. "I love you so much."

They kissed again, and Harry felt such a great sense of happiness and contentment with life that he was sure he had never felt it before. Here he was, on holiday in Australia, nobody trying to kill him, with the girl of his dreams. Life had never been so good.

When they broke apart, Hermione kept her arms tightly around him.

"One week to go," she said sadly, "and then we're back in Britain."

"Back with all our friends," Harry reminded her. "And you get to tell them all that your boyfriend said he loved you. I know what girls' reactions to that tend to be."

"Told a lot of girls you love them have you," asked Hermione with mock suspicion.

"You know I haven't," Harry replied, laughing. "And I can't remember anyone ever saying they loved me until just then."

Hermione's face fell.

"Really?" she asked, stunned. "Never?"

"Well my parents must have told me they loved me," Harry said, shrugging as though this was a casual conversation topic for him. "But obviously I can't remember."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her voice cracking and her eyes beginning to shine with tears, "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Harry asked. "You've just made me so incredibly happy, Mione, and nobody can take that away from me." He kissed her. "Not even you."

Hermione smiled at him.

"You can be really romantic when you want to be, Harry James Potter," she said, stroking his arm. "And I like it."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said, grinning. "What else do you like?"

"Where to start?" Hermione replied, also grinning now. "Your eyes. Your body." she eyed the muscles that six years of Quidditch had provided Harry with. "Your lips." She kissed them lightly before continuing. "You're my best friend, as there's nothing better than being with your best friend. You're so wonderful it's almost unbelievable. I'm actually amazaed I didn't fall for you sooner."

"Why, when did you fall for me?" Harry asked. They had never talked about this before and he was interested to know how long Hermione had had feelings for him before she had told him at the party.

"Erm..." she seemed slightly embarrassed. "I think, on some level, I always did," she said. "But I seriously knew that I wanted to be with you after Ron left us last year. You were there for me and I just thought to myself 'What an amazing man. He keeps going despite everything _and _makes time for me.' That was when I started to properly like you as a boy."

Harry was amazed. He had never imagined that Hermione had had feelings for him for that long. When Ron had returned she had been so angry with him, and Harry had thought that it was some bizarre way of showing feelings for him.

"Did you ever have feelings, proper feelings, for anyone else?" he asked.

"Harry I didn't have feelings for you until I was eighteen. It would be so abnormal if you were the first person I ever liked in that way."

"So, who else?" he prompted. He wasn't concerned about the answers – she was with him now and they loved each other – but he was curious.

"Let's see... there was Viktor in Fourth Year. Then I liked Ron in Fifth and Sixth Year," she said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "And then you, and here we are. What about you? Which other girls held the heart of Harry Potter?"

"Third, Fourth and Fifth Year, I liked Cho," Harry said. "It was painfully obvious to all."

"No arguments there," Hermione agreed. "Carry on."

"Sixth Year and during most of the Horcrux hunt, I liked Ginny." Hermione looked slightly confused.

"You got over her quickly," she said. Then her face fell. "Or are you not?"

"No, no," Harry said, quickly. "I am. I'm absolutely over Ginny. I got over her sometime in February. And then... I don't know... I think I sort of, subconsciously, liked you almost immediately afterwards. I remember when we were being held in Malfoy Manner," Hermione rubbed the place on her arm where Harry knew was an extremely well-healed scar, "and Bellatrix was torturing you, I knew that I would have done absolutely anything to save you. I thought that was because we were best friends, but now I realise that Ron or Luna or Dean probably wouldn't have gone to the same lengths. And then when you told me you had these feelings for me, at the party, I suddenly realised that I did too."

Hermione had sat listening to him, a smile growing steadily larger on her face.

"I love you, Harry," she said, looking straight into his eyes.

"I love you too, Hermione."

**One week later**

Sirius was becoming very bored. It was at times like this that he wished he was a Muggle. They had televisors, or whatever they were called, to keep themselves entertained. Wizards had far fewer things to do to keep themselves entertained. Sirius had never really been one for reading and he had yet to buy a radio. He could go flying, he thought to himself, but there was a chance a Muggle might see him. And while Sirius didn't personally care whether or not any Muggles saw him fly, the Ministry did, and Sirius couldn't stomach the idea of seeing anymore cells.

He had a bought a clock like the Weasleys', with his own, Harry's and Hermione's portraits on the hands. Harry and Hermione's portraits had been on 'Travelling' for three weeks, and Sirius had taken to checking it every day for the past week to see whether they were coming home. Glancing up, he saw that their hands were where they had been for three weeks. Travelling. He looked down, slightly disappointed. Unable to resist, he looked up again. Their hands were moving from 'Travelling' in the direction of 'Home'. Sirius was barely able to contain his excitement and sheer joy. There came a knock at the door, which he actually ran to answer. He pulled open the door.

"Oh, it's you Arthur."

"Nice to see you too, Sirius," Mr Weasley said, sounding slightly hurt.

"No, sorry, I was just expecting... Never mind. Come in, come in."

Mr Weasley stepped over the threshold, hung his cloak on the banister, and turned to Sirius.

"Harry and Hermione not back yet?" he asked.

"No," Sirius replied, disappointedly. "That was who I was hoping was at the door."

Mr Weasley's eyes seemed to attain a twinkle not unlike Dumbledore's and Sirius noticed that he was smiling at something. He turned round. Harry and Hermione were walking back towards the house, holding hands and waving at Sirius and Mr Weasley. Sirius ran out of the door, sprinted along the path and enveloped them both in a hug.

"Missed us?" Harry asked.

"More than you can imagine," Sirius replied. "Never do that again."

"Did you find your parents, Hermione?" Mr Weasley asked.

"Yes, we did," Hermione replied, smiling happily. "They're still in Australia, just finalising the moving. We actually wanted to stay a little longer and help them with everything but we decided we couldn't keep Sirius in this state much longer."

"Well thank you," Sirius replied. "I've been going mad with boredom around here with you two gone."

The three of them walked back into the house, went into the living room with Mr Weasley and sat down.

"Do you mind if I use your fireplace, Sirius? Everyone's at the Burrow and I'd better tell them that these two are back."

"Go ahead, Arthur," Sirius said, gesturing towards a pot on the mantelpiece in which there was a large pile of powder. Mr Weasley picked some up, knelt down in front of the fireplace, drew his wand and said, "Incendio." A fire appeared in the grate. Mr Weasley threw the handful of powder into the fire, which instantly turned emerald green.

"The Burrow," Mr Weasley said, making sure to speak very loudly and clearly. There followed an odd few minutes, where Harry, Hermione and Sirius could hear nothing of the conversation and only see Mr Weasley's body. When he pulled his out of the fire, he turned to them.

"Everyone's on their way over. I think a few of them apparated while I was in there."

There were two _pop_s from outside and Sirius went to investigate.

"So everyone missed us, then?" Harry asked, smirking slightly.

"Immensely," replied Mr Weasley. "We've had to make do with Ron and Luna being the 'new hot couple', as I believe you young people say. And never tell them I said this, but they're not as good company as you two are. Always seem to be more interested in each other's mouths than conversation."

"They're _still _in that phase?" Hermione asked, incredulously. "We were out of that, what, two weeks after we got together?"

"Something like that," Harry said. "We could talk to them about it." Hermione looked unsure.

"I don't know. It's not really our business."

"It is when it puts us off our food," came George's voice to Harry's left.

"Hello you two," said Fred, smiling. "Everyone missed you."

"So we've been told," said Hermione. "Are we really that popular?"

"Yep," replied both the twins together.

"Anyway," said Fred.

"Back to topic," said George.

"Ron and Luna," they said together.

"If you two don't talk to them about this chronic snogging, then we will," said George.

"And believe me," said Fred, "I think you'd put it in far nicer terms than us."

On that, thought Harry, we agree.

"We could do it later," he said.

"Just as long as you do it before dinner," Fred said. "I couldn't handle another meal where Ronnekins and Loony eat each other's faces and not their food."

Harry and Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the image.

"Okay," said Hermione when the laughter had subsided, "we'll talk to them when they get here."

"Good," the twins said together.

"Now," said Fred.

"Tell us about Australia," said George.


	8. Are We Ready?

**Chapter Eight**

**Are We Ready?**

The weeks passed quickly after Harry and Hermione's return from Australia. Ron and Luna had stopped snogging (in public anyway), everyone had asked about Hermione's parents and the holiday. The women had all received the news that 'I love you's had been exchanged with a mixture of sheer joy and envy.

"Apparently Fred and George had a pool going on how long it would take before we said it," Hermione had told Harry about three days after they got back. "Percy won."

Harry had been shocked. He had never thought that Percy knew him so well. They had never been close, and for most of the last three years they had not even been on speaking terms.

"I'll have to ask him how he could perform legilimency over such a long distance," Harry had joked.

July soon began to draw to a close, and so too was Harry's eighteenth birthday. Hermione had seemed to take this fact to heart, as had Sirius and Mrs Weasley. Harry would often see them huddled together in rooms. He knew very well what they were doing, though he was not allowed to show it. Both Hermione and Sirius had told him, completely independently of each other, what they were planning. Therefore, neither knew that the other had told Harry, and so he had to act as though he didn't know.

Harry, however, had something else on his mind. Something that he felt embarrassed talking about, even to Hermione. Especially to Hermione. He had decided to talk to Ron about it first.

"Ron," he had said, tentatively one afternoon when the two of them had Sirius's house to themselves, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing, mate," Ron had replied. "What's up?"

Harry had sat down, swallowing nervously.

"Ron, mate, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Er... no," Ron had replied. "How personal is it?"

"Very."

"Okay, fire away."

Harry had then spent several seconds breathing heavily, earning a strange look from Ron. Finally, he had decided to just ask his question.

"Have you and Luna... erm..."

"What?" Ron had asked, doing his best to keep an air of impatience out of his voice. Then, in a most uncharacteristic show of insight, Ron had pointed his wand at the door and said, "Muffliato. There, you can speak freely now."

"Cheers. Mate, have you and Luna... you know... erm... done it?"

Ron had nearly choked on his fire whiskey.

"Erm..." he had managed when he had recovered, "in all honesty... I don't really know how to... erm... well we..."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. That was until Ron had flung a cushion at his head.

"Mate," Harry had prompted a now scarlet-faced Ron. "Have you and Luna had sex?"

The straightforwardness of the question seemed to help. Ron still struggled to answer, but he was no longer stumbling over his words. Finally he answered.

"Er... yes. We have."

"How did you... er... breach the topic with her?" Harry asked, wringing his hands together nervously. He sincerely hoped that Ron could see where this conversation was going. But, after all, it was Ron.

"It just sort of happened," Ron confessed after a moment or two. "We were at her house. Her dad was in London for a couple of days and we'd decided that it was the perfect time to get some time to ourselves. We... we started kissing and next thing I knew we were naked on her bed."

Harry seriously wondered whether or not Ron knew where Harry was taking the conversation. His suspicions were confirmed when Ron said, "Why do you ask?" Harry rolled his eyes before replying.

"I'm just wondering how to start talking about this to Hermione. I think we're... we're ready."

"What you need to do first, mate," said Ron, leaning forward in his chair, "is find out what she thinks about sex before marriage. Then you can either drop it or pursue it."

"That's strangely intelligent for you, Ron," Harry commented, smirking as Ron threw another cushion at his head, which Harry dodged. There then followed a small cushion fight, with both of them throwing cushions at each other's heads. That was until Ron hit a vase and sent it crashing to the floor, its contents spilling out as the vase smashed. Harry pointed his wand at it, said "Reparo." The vase immediately repaired itself. Harry, his wand still pointed at the vase said, "Aguamenti," filling the vase with water. Another, final, flick of his wand and the flowers flew back into the vase.

"Where were we?" Harry said, recollecting his thoughts. "Ah yes, how should I slip sex before marriage into conversation?"

"Say something like 'Hey, Hermione, sweetness,'" Harry burst out laughing.

"Sweetness?"

"Well I don't know what you call each other in private do I?" Ron said, defensively. "Anyway, do you want this help or not?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Then shut up. Anyway, say 'Hermione, let's have a little debate. What do you think about sex before marriage?' And then depending on her answer either debate with her or say 'Oh, so we agree on that one' and move on to another topic."

"That's actually not bad," Harry said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"We all have our moments," Ron replied, grinning smugly, "even me."

Unfortunately, there wasn't much opportunity to put Ron's plan into action. All of Hermione's day seemed to be taken up with something, be it helping her parents move back into their old house (they insisted on doing it the Muggle way to savour the feeling of coming home), socialising with hers and Harry's friends, taking time to herself or sleeping, and Harry didn't think it a good idea to discuss sex before marriage while Hermione lay next to him wearing nothing but her nightdress. In the end, it was nearly two weeks before Harry got a chance to speak to Hermione in private and at length.

They were taking a walk through the forest near Sirius's house – Harry's suggestion – and they were reminiscing about Australia. Harry waited for the topic to run dry and, eventually, got his wish. He swallowed nervously, but was determined not to let Hermione know how scared he was of talking about this to her.

"Here's an idea, Mione," he said, doing his best to sound casual and cheery, "why don't we have a bit of a debate?"

Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Ooh, good idea," she said, enthusiastically. "Any topics in mind?" Harry pretended to think of a topic.

"Sex before marriage," he said after a moment.

"Oh, I'm completely fine with it," Hermione said. Harry's heart leapt. "I think that if you're in love and both of you are ready for it, there's no problem whatsoever. I think you should wait until you're married to have children, but that's really not the same thing. What about you?"

"You've robbed me of my debate," replied Harry. "I happen to agree with everything you've just said."

"Great minds think alike," she said, grinning. She seemed to be struck by a sudden thought. "Why do you ask?"

Harry was lost for words, and spent several seconds stumbling over letters, trying desperately to answer. The truth dawned on Hermione very quickly.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered, turning slightly pink but not letting go of Harry's hand. He took this to be a good sign. "Harry, why didn't you just ask me if I was ready?"

"I was too embarrassed," mumbled Harry. "You can understand..."

Hermione threw her arms around his neck.

"Harry, there's no need to be embarrassed. You're nearly eighteen and you sleep next to a girl every night. I'd be very surprised if you weren't thinking about it. But are we ready?"

"I am," Harry replied. "I just wonder if you are."

Hermione let out what seemed to be an exasperated exhalation.

"No, Harry, it doesn't matter whether or not we're both ready. What matters is whether or not our _relationship _is ready. Sex can really complicate things, believe it or not."

Harry had never considered that before.

"Do you think our relationship is ready?" he asked her. "I'm fine with whatever your answer is, I just want to know where we are."

"I'd like to think it is," Hermione replied, "and I think that maybe it is, yeah. But I want to be sure before we do anything about it. Okay?"

Harry nodded. He was a little disappointed but he also knew that this was the right decision. As usual, Hermione was right.

"Okay," he replied. "But I'm bedding you at some point, Granger," he said, mischievously.

"That, I don't doubt for a second," said Hermione, matching his mischievousness.


	9. Hermione's Problem

_A/N: I would like to offer my most sincere apologies for having not posted recently. I have been back at my place of education and exams caught up with me. However, they are now over and I have eleven long weeks in which to bring you more of my work. I hope you enjoy this chapter and all subsequent ones as much as you seem to have enjoyed the previous ones. _

_Hermione's situation in this chapter is based on that faced my last girlfriend while we were together (just so you know, she has read this and has approved of my use of our experiences)_

_Also, the phrase 'first floor' appears in this chapter. I am aware that this means different things in difference countries. In Britain, where I live and where the books are set, it means the second floor of the building, as the first is known as the ground floor. Confusing, I know, but that is how it is._

**Chapter Nine**

**Hermione's Problem**

Harry woke, late in the morning of the 31st of July, and took a moment or two to register that it was his eighteenth birthday. He turned to see Hermione smiling at him, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Merlin you're beautiful," was just about all Harry could manage in his barely awake state.

Hermione giggled like a teenage schoolgirl.

"Happy birthday, my handsome Harry," she said, kissing him.

It had only been two days since their talk about moving the relationship forward, and neither of them had said anything more on the subject. Harry knew that whatever Hermione chose he would be happy. He liked things as they were, and yet he knew he would also like it if they introduced sex into the relationship. He had said as much to Hermione the day before.

"So would I, Harry," had been her reply. "We've just got to consider whether or not it would make things complicated."

All Harry could really do was await her decision. For now, he tried to distract his mind with the thought of his birthday and the party that he would have to pretend to be surprised about.

"Hermione," he said, dressing, "do I really have to pretend to be surprised?"

"Yes," Hermione said, sounding exasperated. "Otherwise they'll know I blabbed."

"I could say I found out on my own," Harry suggested. Hermione gave what could have been a derisive laugh, but she managed to disguise it as a cough.

The two of them got dressed and descended the stairs to the kitchen where Sirius was cooking breakfast and a large pile of presents sat on the table.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Sirius said, beaming and leaving the stove momentarily to embrace Harry in a hug.

"Thanks Sirius," Harry replied, smiling. "What are you cooking?"

"Full English," Sirius replied, turning back to his cooking. "Sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, tomatoes, the works. I had Molly teach me how to do it and it's so much easier with magic. Muggles really do have a hard time of it."

"They get by well enough," Hermione pointed out. "Some of them even make a living out of cooking."

"Open your presents, Harry," Sirius said, as though he had not heard Hermione.

Harry sat at the table and picked up the first present, wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper with the Gryffindor lion emblazoned upon it. He read the label.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Eighteenth Birthday! May you have many more!_

_From Remus, Dora and Teddy_

Tearing open the paper, Harry saw that it was a book. He read the cover.

_The Animagus Plight_

_The best-selling novel by E. L. Holt_

'_A fabulous piece of wizarding literature', the Daily Prophet_

Next, Harry opened the Dursleys' present. Recalling the tissue that had constituted his Christmas present in his Fourth Year, Harry privately thought that anything would be able to top that. He was proven to be quite right. Opening the present, it transpired to be a new shirt. It was plain white and clearly inexpensive, but at least it wasn't a tissue or a 50 pence piece.

The rest of Harry's presents had soon been opened and, courtesy of Hermione, been sorted into an orderly pile. He had an assorted box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products from Fred and George, a new set of dress robes from Kingsley Shacklebolt, a new set of Quidditch robes from Ron and Luna, an enormous box of Honeydukes sweets and chocolates from Mr and Mrs Weasley, a muggle mobile phone from Ginny and Dean (Harry suspected that it had been Dean's idea), what looked like a muggle debit card from Bill and Fleur, a set of miniature moving models of known dragon species from Charlie Weasley – Harry instantly recognised the Hungarian Horntail –, and a book on the history of the Ministry of Magic from Percy. Harry made a mental note of exchanging it for something else the next time he was in Flourish and Blotts.

"Where's your present, Hermione?" Sirius asked, confused. Hermione's cheeks coloured a little.

"I'm going to give it to him later, in private."

Harry was intrigued, but Sirius seemed to have leapt to his own conclusion.

"Oh… er… ahem… er… right then," he stammered, turning away from them embarrassedly.

"Sirius," Hermione said, making it clear that he had the wrong idea, "it's not that."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued now," Harry said, grinning.

"Well you'll find out what it is soon enough," Hermione assured. "Now get dressed. I'm treating my boyfriend to a romantic lunch on his birthday."

The restaurant that Hermione had chosen was simply called Martin's, and she had told Harry that she had been able to book them a table at incredibly short notice and their meals would be free of charge. Harry had looked at her questioningly.

"The owner's actually a wizard," she had said, smiling, "and won't have Harry Potter paying in his restaurant."

They sat down at a table on the first floor, near the window, overlooking the busy London high street on which the restaurant was situated. Despite being owned by a wizard, the restaurant seemed to cater to a mostly muggle clientele, though Harry could see the occasional cloak draped over the back of a chair, going unnoticed by the other patrons, most of whom had seen far stranger garments around the city.

The restaurant's menus were simple yet elegant. Card the colour of ivory with all the letters printed in a rich burgundy colour that put Harry in mind of Elf-made wine.

"What are you having?" Hermione asked him.

"Not sure," Harry said, scanning the menu for anything he might like. "Ah, here's something. Grilled chicken steak with chips and salad. What about you Mione?"

"I think," Hermione said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "I will have the duck."

At that moment a waiter came over to their table. He wore a white shirt, a black apron and the friendly smile common to all waiters. In his left hand he carried a notepad and in the other, a pen, its nib poised ready to begin scribbling. Harry and Hermione ordered and the waiter walked hurriedly towards the kitchens, leaving them alone once more.

Harry took Hermione's hand on the table.

"Thank you for this," he said, smiling at her.

"Don't mention it," Hermione said. "I get to treat my boyfriend and give him his present in private."

She reached inside her bag, the same one that she had used when they had been hunting for horcruxes, and reached inside it.

"It's definitely in here somewhere," she said, her elbow now inside the bag she had rummaged so deeply. "Ah, here it is."

She pulled out a small, black box and passed it to Harry. He opened it and his eyes were met by the sight of a small circlet of silver. Harry picked up the ring and read the engraving along the band.

'To my darling Harry on his birthday, I love you. Mione xxx'

Harry smiled at her even more widely than he had before.

"I love you so much," he said, kissing her.

"I love you too," she replied. "Go on, put it on."

Harry did as instructed, taking the ring and placing it on his index finger. He looked at it happily for a few seconds before Hermione recalled his attention.

"Looking forward to tonight?" she asked as their waiter arrived with their drinks.

"Of course I am," said Harry, nodding to the waiter in thanks. "Why, aren't you?"

"Oh no, I am," said Hermione, not meeting his eyes. "It's just that…"

"What?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing with concern. "Mione, what is it?"

"Oh, I was hoping I wouldn't have this problem," Hermione said, visibly uncomfortable. "Look, Harry, my parents don't really like you."

Harry was stunned. He had thought that Richard and Sophie quite liked him. Certainly they had always seemed wary of him, but he had thought that that was just because he was Hermione's boyfriend. The fact that they genuinely didn't like him came as a complete, and unpleasant, revelation.

"Wh-why not?" he asked, after several minutes.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, looking despondent, "but they don't."

"Are they coming tonight?" Harry asked, fearing an awkward situation.

"I think so," Hermione replied, nodding.

"Oh that's all I need," Harry groaned. "My eighteenth birthday party and my girlfriend's parents will be looking for any excuse to hate me."

"They're being so stupid," Hermione said, evidently angry and frustrated. "It's not enough that I'm happy and in love, for some reason. It gets worse, they've invited an old muggle friend of mine along tonight, Darren Willis. They always hoped I'd go out with him."

"Fucking hell," Harry muttered. Then he took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep calm. "Well it's not their relationship, is it Mione?" he said, in a calm and level tone. "It's none of their business and we can deal with it."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Hermione said, trying to look a little cheerier. "Anyway, the food's on its way," she indicated the waiter walking over with a plate in each of his hands, their meals piled on top of them.

Harry and Hermione spent the remainder of the day in London, mostly in Diagon Alley, trying to take their minds off the unpleasant situation they found themselves in. First, they visited Gringotts so that they could withdraw money from their accounts. Harry was surprised to find wizards and witches now assisting the bank's goblins in the running of the bank.

"It's the first part of a new Ministry policy," Hermione had said, "aiming to promote wizard-goblin equality. There's even serious talk of letting them use wands."

After that, they had gone to the many shops along the busy wizarding high street. Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Red and George's joke shop; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Quality Quidditch Supplies. At each shop, their money bags grew lighter until eventually, after buying a Broomstick Servicing Kit, they had next to nothing left.

"We'd best be getting back anyway," Hermione said, checking her watch. "It's nearly seven and your party will be starting soon."

The two linked their fingers together and apparated away, landing just outside Sirius's house.

"Now remember," said Hermione, "you don't know about this."

"Yes, yes," Harry said, bored, "and under no circumstances am I to talk to your parents, apparently."

Hermione sighed.

"I know," she said, sympathetically. "I'll try to talk some sense into them tonight."

They walked through the front door together. The entire house was dark and Harry could not hear a sound. Suddenly, he heard the _click _of Ron's put-outer and several balls of light zoomed back to their sources as a small crowd of people stood up from where they had been crouching, hidden, and shouted 'surprise' in tumultuous unison. Harry, as instructed, did his best to pretend to be surprised, adopting a look of shock. He turned, kissed Hermione cheek and then turned just in time to see Sirius walking towards him, arms outstretched. They embraced and Harry beamed.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Sirius said, smiling just as widely. "Well done on the surprised act," he added in a whisper.

Harry exchanged hugs, handshakes, kisses on the cheek and other pleasantries with the rest of his guests until there were only Hermione's parents left.

"Richard," he said, shaking Mr Granger's hand. "Sophie," he added, kissing Mrs Granger's cheek lightly.

"Happy birthday," Richard said, an obviously forced smile on his face. "We got you this." He held out a wrapped parcel, which Harry accepted.

"I'll put it with the others," Harry said. Just as he was wondering how to get out of this awkward situation, Ron arrived to save him.

"Come on mate," he said, "come and have a drink."

Harry didn't need telling twice.

Part-way through the party, Hermione managed to corner her parents.

"What's your problem with Harry?" she asked in a whisper. Neither of them responded. "Well?" she pressed.

"Darling," began Mrs Granger, "it's just that he's a little…" she trailed off.

"A little _what_?" Hermione demanded, her face becoming angry. "What is your problem with my boyfriend?"

"We feel that he's a little forward," Mr Granger said. "He's always got his arm around you or his hand in yours."

"So?"

"We don't want you getting a reputation, Hermione," Richard confessed. "We don't want people thinking our daughter's a slut."

"And why the hell would they think that?" Hermione demanded through gritted teeth in order to keep from shouting. "He's my boyfriend and we never do anything more than kiss when we're in public."

"And what about in private?" Sophie asked, raising a wary eyebrow.

"It's _private_, mum. That's why that word applies. And for your information Harry and I have yet to consummate our relationship."

"Are you sure he's right in the head, darling?" Sophie asked, changing tactic at the speed of light.

"What in Merlin do you mean?" Hermione asked, staring her mother defiantly in the eyes.

"All that trauma he's been through," Sophie said. "Orphaned, abused, so many murder attempts. Are you sure they've not all had an effect on his mind?"

Hermione was so overcome with shock and outrage that she was unable to speak. She simply stood there, mouth open, eyes wide and staring at her parents with horror and outrage. She was still stood there when, a few seconds later, her mother beckoned over a tall young man with spiked hair and a small beard wearing a cheap suit and too much bad aftershave.

"Hi Hermione," he said, moving to embrace her in a hug. Hermione backed away.

"Not right now Darren," she said. "I've got to find Harry."


	10. Breaking Point

**Chapter Ten**

**Breaking Point**

Hermione found Harry standing with Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus in the garden, all of them clutching bottles of butterbeer and enjoying each other's company. She saw Seamus point to her and say something to Harry, who turned and smiled at her.

"Hello you," he said, putting his hand on her side. He saw her expression and his smile became a frown. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"My bloody parents," Hermione fumed. "They think that you're insane or something."

Harry was not so much offended as amused.

"They only have to look at me and talk to me to know that I'm not mad," he said, laughing. "What on earth do they think that for?"

"Because of all you've been through," Hermione answered. She noticed that the other boys were all watching them and listening to the conversation, concerned and angry looks on their faces.

"Sounds like they're the ones who are bloody mental," said Ron, his face becoming redder and redder by the second as he got angrier. "I'll sort them out."

He started to march towards the house, but he had had too much to drink and fell over before he had even reached the door. Dean and Seamus, who were more sober, rushed off to stop him.

"Is there nothing you can say?" Neville asked, looking crestfallen.

"Apparently not," said Hermione, folding her arms and sighing. She looked as though she was gathering a lot of strength and willpower and both Harry and Neville wondered what she was going to say. "Sod them," she said at last. "If they can't be happy for me, I don't need them. I'll be nineteen in September; I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"Now hold on there, Hermione," said Harry. "They might not like me very much but is that any reason to cut them out of your life? I mean, they're your parents."

Hermione looked at him with an expression that Harry had never seen before. It seemed to be a mixture of incredulity, admiration, shock and love.

"You are, unequivocally, the most wonderful man I have ever met," she said, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

"Now, Hermione," came a voice Harry didn't recognise, "what did your parents just say?"

Harry turned and saw a man he had never seen before striding across the garden towards them. He wore a cheap suit and a small beard and Harry could smell the bad aftershave he wore even from this distance. Harry deduced that this was Darren Willis, Hermione's muggle friend that her parents had brought along and, if Hermione was correct, had their hearts set on her being with.

"Fuck what my parents said," Hermione said sharply. "Harry is my boyfriend and if I want to kiss him, I will bloody well kiss him." And she did just that. Harry was pleasantly shocked by this new, feisty Hermione. Judging from the look on Darren's face, however, he was not.

"You know, Hermione," he said, putting unnecessary emphasis on her name, "your parents do know best. If they don't think you should be with Harry then you shouldn't be with him."

Hermione rounded on Darren.

"Fuck them," she snapped, causing several people to turn around in surprise and interest. "If they can't be happy for me then…" But she never finished. Instead she stormed off towards the house.

Harry went after her and caught up with her on the stairs leading up to their room.

"Mione," he said, calmly but firmly, "come back."

She ignored him and kept going up the stairs, walked into their room and slammed the door shut behind her. Harry flicked his wand and the door opened.

"Mione," he repeated, walking in, "come back an-" He stopped mid-sentence. Hermione was sat on their bed crying like Harry had never seen her cry before. "Mione, darling, what is it?"

He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his shoulder. Harry could feel the wet warmth of her tears spread through his shirt but he didn't care. All he could think of was comforting Hermione, making sure that she was alright.

Eventually, Hermione looked up at him. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, then Hermione leaned in and kissed him. It was a kiss unlike any they had shared before, passionate and instinctive. Hermione soon felt Harry's tongue against her closed lips, pleading for entry. She granted it and their tongues danced around in each other's mouths for a long while. Before either of them knew it, they were lying on the bed, Hermione on top of Harry, their hands caressing any part of each other that they could reach.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled away, forcing Harry back to his own senses.

"What… just happened?" he asked, tentatively.

"I think we've got our answer to whether or not we're ready," Hermione said, after a moment. "It would seem that we are."

Both of them smiled widely and laughed, then kissed again.

"But not now," Hermione said. "Right now, we've got a party to re-join."

The two of them descended the staircase, holding hands. Harry scanned the living room as they entered and noticed that neither of Hermione's parents were there, and nor was that Darren.

"Where are Mione's parents?" Harry asked Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dumbledore, who were stood near the fireplace, chatting.

"They left, I think," replied Kingsley. "That man they brought with them – what's his name? Darren – he said something about you saying that you wanted to cut them out of your life and never see them again."

"What?" Harry and Hermione asked, together, both looking shocked.

"Am I to gather from your reactions that what Mr Willis told your parents was untrue, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked, in his usual professorial tone.

"Yes, professor," Hermione replied, fresh tears springing into her eyes. "Why would he do that?"

Harry had no definitive answer to her question, but he had his suspicions.

"So that they drive to control you more," he said, as if to himself.

Over the next few days it seemed that Harry's suspicions were right. Hermione's parents now insisted that she return to living with them, and only rarely let her and Harry see each other. When Harry was allowed over to the Granger house, it was always to a frosty reception and never for more than an hour or two at a time.

"And they keep inviting Darren over," Hermione said one night over the phone. This and letters were the only ways of the two of them could keep contact when they were apart. "And keep making poorly disguised hints that he's better for me than you."

"They'll come round," Harry said, trying to convince himself as much as Hermione. "Merlin, I miss you."

"I miss you too," said Hermione, her voice quiet and sorrowful. "I'll try and get away for a bit tomorrow."

"Please do," Harry said, imploringly. "It feels like a lifetime since I last saw you." On the other end of the line, he thought he heard Hermione sniff back tears.

"I know what you mean," she replied, her voice cracking, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Even though it's only been a few days, it feels like forever."

"I love you, Mione," Harry said, feeling tears begin to well up in his own eyes too.

"I love you too, Harry," Hermione said. "I love you so much."

Harry thought he heard her crying before the call was ended by Hermione putting the phone down. He sighed and only just managed to restrain his own tears. He couldn't believe how much he missed Hermione when they were apart. Sometimes he would be so overcome with longing for her that he would want to cry out or apparate to her house to see her and be with her.

But he knew that neither of those actions would achieve anything.

"How are you doing?"

It was Sirius, and he sounded concerned. He knew that Harry was struggling to cope with the situation and Harry had confided in his godfather that he was worried that his and Hermione's relationship would not be able to survive if the situation got any worse.

"Badly," Harry said in answer to Sirius's question. "I miss her so much."

"I know," Sirius said sorrowfully, sitting down next to Harry. "You know, your parents went through something like this."

Harry was surprised. He had never heard much about his parents' relationship.

"What happened?"

"That aunt of yours," Sirius replied, staring into space the way he always did when he remembers the days before his long imprisonment in Azkaban. "When she met your uncle, he started lying to Lily's parents about what she and James were doing. He'd say they were all over in each other when in actuality they were doing nothing more than holding hands and sharing a few kisses. Lily's parents started pressuring her to leave James."

Harry could see it in his mind's eye. Uncle Vernon, with more colour in his hair, less fat on his face and less of a moustache, lying about his parents with an evil glint in his eye, the same one he used to reserve for Harry when he had thought up of an especially cruel way of treating him.

"That bastard," Harry said under his breath.

"Agreed," Sirius said, the ghost of a grin appearing on his face. "Anyway, your parents decided they couldn't cope with the pressure and they split up for a bit. Not for long, for about a month. My point is," he said, bringing the conversation full circle, "the more Hermione's parents try to pressure Hermione into ending your relationship, the more they'll make her think you're meant to be together."

Harry couldn't help but be cheered a little by Sirius's story. Even so, he couldn't suppress the worrying feeling in the pit of his stomach. The ever-present dread that Hermione would not act as Sirius predicted she would.

Two more weeks passed and the situation only got worse. Hermione's parents now forbade her to see Harry at all, and their phone conversations were limited to an hour once a day.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked her parents late one night in mid-August.

"We're thinking," her mother replied.

"What about?"

"Things," her father said, not looking at her.

"What 'things'?" Hermione asked, her tone becoming more insistent. "I can apparate, you know. I could just go to Harry right now."

"You will not," her father said sternly, rounding on her. He was much taller than Hermione, he was powerfully built for a man of his age and his eyes were shade of blue that made them seem to burn into her when he glared. All in all he was a very intimidating sight.

"Hermione, we just want to make sure you don't make any horrible mistakes," her mother said, trying to diffuse the situation. "This really is all in your best interests."

"What?" Hermione spat, a mixture of anger and disbelief in her voice. "How can making me unhappy possibly me in my best interests?"

Neither of her parents had an answer, so Hermione contented herself with glaring at the two of them and storming off up to her bedroom.

She was nearing breaking point now. She hadn't seen Harry for days and had only had Darren for company, hearing all of his snide remarks and sycophantic flattery. She wondered what could have possibly made her childhood friend become like this. Jealousy, she supposed. She knew that he had always had feelings for her, but she had thought that they were nothing more than the low-level feelings typical between friends of opposite sexes. Now, however, it seemed that Hermione was caught between two types of love: the happy, healthy and creative love that Harry felt for her and the destructive, manipulative, jealous love that she was subjected to by Darren.

Hermione lay on her bed and wept. She had never felt so lost, broken and hurt in all her life and the worst part was that there was nothing she could do about it.

Or was there?

The way Hermione saw it she had two choices; either she could stay here and continue to live this mockery of a life, or she could run away, perhaps go and live with Harry again.

Yes, she decided, she would do that. Cutting her parents out of her life might not be what Harry wanted her to do, but that was just him being his usual noble, sacrificing self. Right now, she felt no qualms whatsoever about abandoning them. They were not the parents she had had before she had modified their memories; they were new and cruel monsters and she did not want them in her life.

Hastily, Hermione filled her small beaded bag with all of her most prized belongings; her books, clothes, cosmetics and accessories. Then she concentrated hard on Sirius's house.

"Destination, determination, deliberation," she said very quietly to herself as she turned on the spot and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was stood outside the familiar building that was Sirius's house.

Beaming, and almost crying with joy, she ran towards the house.

Inside the house, Sirius was sat in the kitchen doing the crossword of that day's Daily Prophet.

"Three down," he muttered to himself, sucking his quill in thought. "Ghost swamp creature, nine letters with a 'y' in the middle." He thought for a few moments more before it dawned on him. "Hinkypunk," he cried out, scribbling down the answer.

He heard the hands of the clock change behind him. He turned in shock; the hands hadn't moved since Hermione had left. He saw that her hand had moved from 'Travelling', where it had remained for two weeks, to 'Home'.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted up the stairs.

"What?" Harry shouted back, confused. His head appeared, hanging over the banister. He had hardly left his bedroom in days, and Sirius could see dark stubble around his mouth. His hair was visibly filthy and had grown to be almost as long as it had been during his fourth year at Hogwarts. Sirius also guessed that he hadn't washed or even cleaned his teeth.

"First, clean yourself up," Sirius said, almost laughing at the sight of his godson. Harry pointed his wand at himself and performed some basic hygiene charms.

"Now, what is it? What's with the shouting?"

"Hermione's here!" Sirius shouted, obviously over the moon at this. Harry hurtled down the stairs so fast that Sirius could have sworn he had apparated. Racing past his godfather, Harry ran out of the front door and almost straight into his girlfriend.

"Harry!" she cried.

"Mione!" he said, smiling, hardly able to believe that she was here. "What on earth…?"

"I've run away," she explained. "I couldn't take it anymore, and I just missed you so much."

They flung their arms around each other and then, nothing standing between them any longer, they shared a passionate kiss.

"I love you," Harry said, sincerely, his eyes closed and their foreheads touching.

"I love you too," Hermione whispered.


	11. The Dancing Leprechaun

_A/N: I realise that I moved through the whole situation with Hermione's parents very quickly but that's just because it hit me that we're now ten chapters in and Harry and Hermione haven't even been together for a year yet. Given that this fic is meant to encompass years of their life, I thought it best not to get too hung up on it. I promise, however, that I won't skimp on plot for the sake of length. I also promise that we haven't seen the last of Richard and Sophie Granger._

_Some of this chapter takes place inside a pub. Think typical British pub, with long sofa-like seats, a long bar that takes up an entire wall, and polished mahogany tables with the table numbers embedded in brass discs. And the food. Don't forget the wonderful British pub food._

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Dancing Leprechaun**

The week after Hermione's return was spent resettling her and ensuring that she was comfortable with the choice she was made. Hermione herself didn't see the point.

"They know it's pointless going to the muggle police," she had said two days after she had come back to live with Sirius and Harry, "and they haven't tried to contact me. I couldn't go back on my decision even if I wanted to."

"Mione, I'm sorry I caused all this," Harry said, sincerely sorry. Hermione glared at him defiantly.

"You did _not _cause this, Harry, and I will _not _have you blaming yourself. My parents caused this. It's their fault."

Over the next few days everyone came to the house to see Hermione again and ask her what had happened. Hermione, Harry noticed, did not tell people the truth as to why she was back.

"My parents relented," she would often say, cheerfully.

"Mione," Harry had said on her fifth night back as they got ready for bed, "why do you keep telling people that your parents changed their minds? That's just a blatant lie."

"I'm just not ready to deal with all the questions that will inevitably lead to," she replied from the en suite bathroom. "And I don't want to have to tell the story a thousand times."

"How about we tell everyone at the same time?" Harry suggested. "We could invite everyone for drinks, under the pretext of celebrating your return, and we could tell them then."

Hermione was quiet for a few minutes. Harry knew by now that this meant she was thinking his suggestion over, weighing up the pros, the cons, the practicality and any number of any factors. She really did have a fantastic mind.

"I like that idea," Hermione said. "Why don't we go to Dean and Seamus's pub?"

"The Dancing Leprechaun?"

"Yeah, that one. We haven't seen it since we first got back from our holiday have we?"

They had stopped referring to their time in Australia as finding Hermione's parents. It was now just a holiday that the two of them had shared. Their first holiday together.

"Good idea," Harry agreed. "Saves us having to buy food and drink for everyone."

"We'll just let Dean and Seamus have that burden," Hermione laughed. Harry felt comforted by the sound. It was a sign that he had his Mione back unscathed by the trauma she had just been through.

"Alright, so we're inviting everyone to the Dancing Leprechaun," Harry said as Hermione came out of the bathroom wearing her nightdress. "How are we getting the message out? Hedwig can't be in twenty different places at once."

"I'll do that thing with my patronus," Hermione replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be able to send a message through her patronus – in truth very few wizards could do that.

"You could do it now," Harry said. "It's not that late, after all, everyone will probably still be awake."

Hermione picked her wand up off her bedside table.

"Expecto patronum," she said, confidently. Her familiar silver otter burst out of her wand and appeared to swim through the air. Then Hermione spoke, as if to the otter. "Harry and I would like to invite you to the Dancing Leprechaun on Saturday night at seven pm for drinks to celebrate our return to normality. Hope you can make it." She then rattled off the names of everyone she was inviting and the otter swam off into the sky, moving faster than Harry had ever seen anything move before.

"Anyway, Mr Potter," Hermione said, walking over to him and kissing him, "what was that about it being early?"

"Well it is," Harry said, "it's only ten."

"Hmmm," Hermione said, pretending to think hard. "If it's only ten then that means we have some time on our hands."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He thought he knew where this was going but knew that it would be very embarrassing for both of them if he was wrong. He decided to err on the side of caution.

"Yeah, so?" He feigned ignorance.

"Well, I think that on your birthday we discovered a little something about our relationship, remember?" Hermione said, tracing his chest with her finger.

"Hmmm, I think I do," Harry said, grinning at her and caressing her neck. "Show me what you can do Mione."

The next day Harry awoke and looked to Hermione's side of the bed. There she was, lying on her side, her back towards him. Harry reached out and lightly stroked her side. Hermione moaned slightly in her sleep and Harry pulled away quickly, terrified of waking her.

"Keep doing that," Hermione muttered sleepily.

Harry obliged her, and for several minutes he listened to her moans of pleasure as he ran his hands over her body and kissed her skin. Then she sat up and got out of bed.

"Come on," she said, picking up her wand and summoning her clothes to her from the wardrobe. "We will continue this later."

"How was it for you last night?" Harry asked as he too climbed out of bed and began dressing.

"Very, very good," Hermione replied, smiling at him and winking.

"I didn't hurt you?"

"A little," Hermione admitted. "But it was totally worth it."

They dressed and went downstairs. Sirius was already sat in the kitchen reading the Daily Prophet and eating a piece of toast.

"Morning," he said as they came in. "What are you two going to do today then?"

"I think I'll just hang around the house," Harry said, making his own breakfast. "What are you doing Mione?"

"I'm going out for lunch with the girls," Hermione replied, sitting next to Sirius. Harry raised an eyebrow as he turned round, a plate of fried eggs in one hand.

"Are you going to tell them about your parents before tonight then?"

"No," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "Everyone's going to find out at the same time."

Harry smiled weakly. Hermione might have insisted many times over the last few days that what had happened was not his fault but he just couldn't help but think otherwise. It was the same part of his personality that had made him blame himself when anyone had died during the war. In fact, he still blamed himself for all those deaths.

The day passed slowly for Harry. With Hermione gone there was very little to occupy himself with.

"We should really try to get some muggle technology working in here," he commented early in the afternoon. "They've got all sorts of ways to stave off boredom."

"Like those, uh, what are they called?" Sirius said, trying to remember. "Televisors, are they called?"

"Televisions," Harry corrected him, grinning slightly. Wizarding ignorance of the things that muggles took for granted always amused him, and even more so when Sirius was involved.

"We should talk to Arthur about how to get muggle technology to work around magic," Sirius said, as if he had not heard Harry's correction. "Give us something to do around here."

Eventually, Harry and Sirius decided to make use of the wealth of land around Sirius's house to indulge in a favourite pastime of many wizards: flying. Had Hermione been with them, doubtless she would have cautioned that muggles might see them, but Sirius had no such qualms. As he had said to Harry during his fifth year at Hogwarts, 'the risk would have been what made it fun for James'.

They made their way to an open, flat area, with nothing but grass around them and trees in the distance encircling them, well secluded and far away from prying muggle eyes.

"What do you say to a race?" Sirius asked Harry. "Three times round the treeline."

"You're on," Harry replied, grinning. He mounted his Firebolt, while at the same time Sirius swung his leg over the handle of his own Nimbus 2008, the latest broom in the Nimbus line and said to be the Firebolt's equal in every way. Sirius had bought it just two weeks previously and had yet to fly it.

The two of them looked each other in the eye, all the competition of brothers or best friends between them. Sirius mouthed counting, 'One, two, three', and the two of them kicked off at the same moment. Their brooms rose sharply and quickly, exactly neck and neck, Harry performing a spiralling motion as he rose, purely to show off. They headed straight for the treeline, turning the moment they reached it, ducking and weaving around some of the lower hanging branches. Harry managed to pull ahead and he urged the broom forward, increasing his lead.

"Come on," Harry shouted back to Sirius, trailing eight feet behind him.

Sirius just growled in response, like a dog, and sped up, drawing level with Harry as they neared the end of the first lap. Harry marvelled at the speed of the Firebolt and the Nimbus 2008; they had been flying for barely twenty seconds and they had already covered more than a kilometre.

The next two laps saw Harry and Sirius exactly level for almost the entire race. Occasionally, one of them would draw ahead but the other would catch up within seconds. For the final lap, both of them sped round as fast as they could make their brooms fly. To an onlooker they would have appeared to be blurs, moving as fast as dragonflies around the circle of trees.

Harry leaned forward, making everything about him streamlined in an effort to make the broom fly faster. Below him Sirius copied him, leaning forward, his long hair flying out behind him. Suddenly, Harry was struck by an idea. Tilting the broom skyward he rose sharply. Below him Sirius looked up, confused. Harry could understand why; he was allowing Sirius to take the lead. But Harry had a plan.

When he reached the level of the canopy Harry dove, gaining speed and momentum as he hurtled downwards. He passed Sirius and flew forwards, completing the third lap ahead of his godfather.

He dismounted and faced Sirius, grinning smugly.

"That was cheating," Sirius said, grinning as well despite himself.

"How so?" Harry retorted. Sirius opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it again and then finally closed it.

"Oh alright," Sirius conceded, "maybe it wasn't cheating."

The two of them walked back to the house, brooms slung over their shoulders, talking like best friends. Like father and son.

The Dancing Leprechaun was a large pub, occupying the building that had once served as Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Florean had been killed by the Death Eaters during the war, and Dean and Seamus had decided to use his shop as their premises as a memorial. There was also a brass plaque dedicated to him over the front door. It read:

_Here worked and lived Florean Fortescue, 1945 – 1996, taken from this world by the Death Eaters for his knowledge of ancient magic. May he never be forgotten._

Harry, Hermione and Sirius arrived early, planning to get a few butterbeers in before the others arrived. Hermione had said, somewhat ruefully, that it would help her explain the situation with her parents.

Harry was sipping at his third butterbeer when Ron and Luna, the first to arrive, turned up at the pub.

"Not downing them by the barrel then?" Ron joked, before turning to Donna, the pretty and cheerful barmaid that Dean and Seamus had hired to help them. "A butterbeer and a – what do you want Luna?"

Luna turned to him as though she had not really been listening.

"Oh I don't mind," she replied in her dreamy voice. "You know what I like."

"A butterbeer and a glass of Elf wine, please."

Donna poured Ron's drinks and slid them to him.

"That's five sickles, please," she said.

Ron dug inside his pockets and pulled out the sickles, putting them in Donna's hand. Then he picked up his and Luna's drink, sipped at his own, and passed Luna her wine.

The rest of their friends arrived over the course of the next half an hour. They found a table and ordered food. Soon it arrived and everyone began to eat. A few minutes into the meal, Fred spoke.

"So, Hermione," he said.

"Why have you called us here?" asked George, finishing the sentence.

"I told you in the patronus," Hermione replied, "to celebrate my return."

"Except you'd have thrown a party at your house if that was the only reason," Tonks observed. Everyone looked at her, shocked. Tonks was the last person they would expect to exhibit these Holmes-esque deductive skills. Tonks simply raised an eyebrow and smirked in reply, enjoying the response she had got. Even more so as it had proven that she was right.

"I suppose there's no point pretending now," Hermione admitted, setting down her knife and fork and adopting the air of someone about to tell a story. Harry set down his own cutlery and leaned back on the long sofa that he and half of the others were sitting on. Everyone else had either done the same or seemed to be suspended in mid meal, their cutlery completely stationery but looking as if it were in the middle of an action.

"My parents had become completely unreasonable," Hermione said, her voice completely calm and level and her face betraying no emotions. "They were only letting me talk to Harry once a week for an hour and we weren't allowed to see each other at all. It was Hell."

She paused to take a sip of wine. The whole table was completely silent, hanging on her every word. There were looks of horror, pity, sadness, disbelief and anger on people's faces. Everyone was on Harry and Hermione's side, and they were showing it.

"Eventually, I confronted them about it," Hermione continued. "They said that it was 'for my own good' and that they were 'protecting' me. Or something like that. I tried to reason with them, to make my case, but they wouldn't listen. So I ran away."

She sipped at her wine again, and below the table her free hand clutched Harry's. She might have seemed strong and composed on the surface but inside, Harry knew, she was a wreck and the telling of this story was a great effort for her.

"And then," she said, her voice shuddering slightly for a moment, "I went to Sirius and Harry's house and that's where I've been living since and, if it's alright with them, where I plan on continuing to live."

All eyes turned towards Harry at this.

"Is it alright if Hermione carries on living with us, Sirius?" Harry asked, hoping to divert attention from himself. The ploy worked; every head swivelled, in almost perfect unison, to face Sirius, who found himself somewhat overwhelmed and baffled.

"Of course it is," he said at last. "Did you honestly expect I was going to say anything else?"

A general muttering of approval circled round the table, interrupted by Dumbledore standing, his glass raised. Immediately, everyone fell silent once more; the same effect Dumbledore had at the start of every feast at Hogwarts.

"I propose a toast," he said, loudly, "to Hermione Granger, for showing bravery and determination worthy of a true Gryffindor."

Everyone else, except Hermione, who was smiling with tears in her eyes now, lifted their glasses and said, "Hermione."


	12. Back to Godric's Hollow

_A/N: I know this is a short chapter. I just felt like this had to happen soon._

**Chapter Twelve**

**Back to Godric's Hollow**

The next few weeks passed quickly. Hermione had moved on from the trauma with her parents faster than anyone would have predicted and it was now considered to be such old news as to be unworthy of mention. Richard and Sophie were no longer spoken about, directly or indirectly, and Hermione herself had made no attempts to contact them.

"They know where I am and how to contact me," she had said to Harry one evening about six weeks after the meal at the Dancing Leprechaun. "If they want to patch things up it's in their power to do so."

Harry, Hermione and Ron had by now started working at the Ministry positions they had been promised at the end of the war; Harry and Ron working in the Auror Office and Hermione in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Despite having only worked there for a few weeks, Hermione had already started to push for greater House Elf equality. As a result, her workload and tripled and she was having to spend much more time working, which meant that Harry got much less time with her. Harry and Ron, by contrast, had almost nothing to do. Any dark wizards there might have been were keeping an extremely low profile in the wake of Voldemort's death.

At the start of September, Hermione's birthday arrived. Harry woke her mid-morning and once they had dressed and had breakfast with Sirius she opened her presents. From Harry, she had got goblin-made jewellery, set with pearls.

"I'm rich, remember?" Harry had said when she had looked at him open mouthed when he had presented her with the gifts that morning.

Hermione had not received anything from her parents. Not even so much as a card. Outwardly she was stoic, not even allowing her mouth to move when she failed to see a card or label on a parcel reading 'From Mum and Dad'. But Harry knew that she was deeply disappointed and saddened. She was talking far less than usual and she was less responsive, taking longer to respond to questions or to register when someone was talking to her. She was also staring into space, which was very unlike her indeed.

Later, Harry took Hermione out for a fancy lunch. They arrived at the restaurant, Charmant, and were shown to their table by a waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt and a burgundy waistcoat. His hair was very well kept, and he was wearing enough aftershave for it to be noticeable but not enough for it to be unpleasant. The waiter pulled out Hermione's chair for her and ensured that Harry was sat close enough to the table before asking them what they wanted to drink.

"We'll have two glasses of champagne, please," Harry said, smiling at the waiter, whom he had for some reason taken quite a liking to.

"Certainly, sir," the waiter responded, beaming as if this were the best thing he had heard all day. "When you are ready to order your meals, please just say so."

He bustled off, leaving Harry and Hermione by themselves.

"Merlin this place is fancy," Hermione muttered, looking around in awe.

"Yes it is," Harry replied, looking straight at Hermione and smiling. "I know how much you like to be classy, so I thought I'd bring you here."

Hermione smiled at him. It was a sincere smile and it warmed Harry to know that Hermione was still capable to such things.

"You know me so well," she said. "I love you."

"I love you too," Harry replied. They leaned across the table and kissed each other.

The meal passed uneventfully, and it was wonderful for both of them for just that reason. Hermione got to just enjoy her birthday and her boyfriend's company. Harry got to see Hermione enjoying herself; Merlin knows she needed it.

The next couple of months passed without incident. Both Harry and Hermione continued to work and spend time together. Now that the initial groundwork of Hermione's new legislation on House Elves was done with her workload had eased greatly, and she had far more free time on her hands. Sirius was writing an autobiography, and he had already had letters from several wizarding publishers offering to pay him huge amounts of money in exchange for exclusive publication rights.

"My life story is a publisher's dream," he remarked one day in early October. "Especially the twelve years of wrongful imprisonment in Hell."

"At least you had a way of keeping your mind," Harry had said to him. "So many of the other prisoners went mad, you told me."

"That's true," Sirius conceded, "but still, it was a twelve year-long nightmare."

As Halloween approached, the wizarding world started to prepare for the festivities. Hermione, for her part, had researched the history of Halloween, and Harry had had to listen as she explained that it had been started by wizards and adopted by muggles before the imposition of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1692. Harry had to admit that as boring as it had been, Hermione had managed to make it far more interesting than any of Professor Binns' lessons at Hogwarts.

Very soon, the 31st of October arrived and Harry awoke to find the house decorated from ceiling to cellar. Paper bats that really flew, Jack-o-Lanterns that cackled maniacally every few seconds, real cobwebs created the night before by Hermione. All in all, Harry had only ever seen better decorations at Hogwarts, which had the advantage of incredibly skilled wizards, as well as a hundred House Elves.

"I'm going out later," Harry told Hermione and Sirius at breakfast.

"Where to?" they asked in unison.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry replied, and both Hermione and Sirius instantly knew what he was talking about. It was the anniversary of James' and Lily's murder, and Harry was going to honour their memories.

"I'll come with you," Hermione said, "if you want me to."

Harry smiled lovingly at her.

"Yes please," he replied.

"I'll stay here," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. "I'll let you two have tonight to yourselves."

At seven o'clock that evening Harry and Hermione walked out of the house, put their hands together and apparated away. There was the usual spinning, sickening experience and the feeling of being squeezed down a tight tube before they slammed down onto the grass of wet leaves of the forest floor just outside the village of Godric's Hollow.

Harry could hear the excited shouts of children, doubtless a mixture of muggle and wizard, as they went from house to house collecting sweets. Dressed as vampires, werewolves, corpses and other horror-based creatures as they were, Harry couldn't help but smile at the normality of it all.

They moved out of the forest, wrapped up warmly against the first chills of winter that had begun to settle over the country.

"Remember when we here last?" Harry asked Hermione.

"How could I forget?" Hermione replied ruefully. Clearly the memories were as vivid to her as they were to him.

How could they not be? It had hardly been a forgettable experience. The two of them had been lured into the house of the elderly historian, Bathilda Bagshot, by whom they thought was the woman herself. It had transpired too late that Bathilda was long-since dead and was being possessed by Voldemort's pet snake, Nagini, who had taken them completely by surprise and almost killed both Harry and Hermione. Voldemort himself had arrived soon afterwards and, with only seconds to spare before he killed them, Hermione had managed to facilitate hers and Harry's escape.

The two of them walked, hand in hand, towards the graveyard where they had begun the events of the last Christmas Eve, for that had been the date of their near-fatal encounter with Nagini. Remembering precisely where what they were looking for was, they made their way towards it, not looking at any of the tombstones or macabre statuettes until they reached the two stones that stood, side by side. A still-fresh wreath lay at their feet.

"You really do know your stuff, Hermione," Harry commented, seeing the wreath that she had magically conjured almost a year prior.

"Something should live forever in a graveyard," Hermione commented, resting her head on Harry's shoulder as she had done on that snowy night. It felt like so long ago, but it had only been ten months.

Harry dropped to his knees in front of the graves and, despite himself, managed a small smile.

"Hey mum," he whispered. "Hey dad."

He felt Hermione's hand lightly rest on his shoulder as he stared at the graves in silence, tears welling up in his eyes and spilling out onto the wet grass beneath him. He shuddered as he wept, though he made no sounds, and Hermione knelt beside him, wrapped her arms around him and just held him like that until he had stopped crying. When that was, neither of them knew or cared. All that mattered was that they were there, in front of the graves of James and Lily Potter, on the anniversary of their death.

"I love you," Hermione eventually whispered in Harry's ear.

"I love you too," Harry replied, turning to look her straight in the eye. His own eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the lenses of his glasses stained by tears. They kissed, then stood and made their way to the village green, where a statue stood.

To muggles, this statue was instead a cenotaph, an obelisk rising above the flat of the green. Names were carved onto its faces, beneath a heading that read, 'These Men Listed Below Gave Their Lives in the Great Wars of 1914 to 1918 and of 1939 to 1945'. To Harry and Hermione, however – and presumably to any other witch or wizard – the statue depicted a man, who was smiling happily, his arm around the shoulders of a woman. She looked just as happy as him, gazing down at a small baby, who smiled outwards at whoever came to look upon the statue.

Harry reached out and touched the stone image of himself, brushing the baby's cheek. He turned to face Hermione, who copied the gesture on the real, flesh and blood Harry. They kissed again, and when they pulled away they sat down on the statue's plinth, neither of them speaking.

Hermione was deep in thought. She knew how hard this was for Harry, despite it having been his choice to come here in the first place. The trauma he had suffered in this place, the life rending horror of his infancy and the ten year Hell that it had plunged him into, salvation coming only on his eleventh birthday, were all she knew dominating Harry's thoughts as he sat, gazing stoically in the direction where he and she both knew there stood a ruined cottage, invisible to muggles, ivy growing over its blasted walls and grass growing as tall as a man. There too, there was a plaque on which countless wizards and witches had signed their names, reminders that Harry was not the only person who still cared about the events of that night seventeen years ago.

Hermione was looking towards the village church when she heard Harry move. Looking round, she saw him on his hands and knees, seemingly looking for something on the ground.

"Dropped something?" she asked, her voice cracking from lack of use.

What Harry did next shocked her completely.

He turned to face her, genuflecting with one knee on the ground, his face lifted towards hers. In his hands he was clutching a small, velvet box, rich purple in colour. Its lid was up, and Hermione could see inside a ring, its diamond stone glistening in the light of the half-moon that shone down on the village, unhindered by clouds.

"Hermione," Harry said in barely more than a whisper, "I love you." He paused, inhaled deeply – clearly he was extremely nervous – and continued. "Will you marry me?"

Hermione sat, open-mouthed with shock.

"Harry…" she said, softly cupping his cheek with her hand and staring into his face, his eyes wide with exhilaration. She was speechless. For once, she could not find any words. Eventually she contented herself with a simple, single-syllable, "Yes".


	13. John

_A/N: The last chapter was… big, to say the least. This one will not focus so much on Harry and Hermione; it will still be told from their perspective, but they are not the focus._

**Chapter Thirteen**

**John**

The news that Harry Potter, whose repertoire of unofficial titles now included 'The Boy Who Triumphed', was now engaged was not kept a secret for long. Within a fortnight, the Daily Prophet had produced a five page spread on the couple and their relationship, most of which was pure fabrication.

"Who the Hell wrote this?" Harry asked, amused, when he read the piece over breakfast one morning.

"Three guesses," Hermione said as she made herself a cup of tea and sat down next to him.

Harry looked at the top of the piece and was not surprised at all to read the name written there: Rita Skeeter.

"I'd have thought she'd at least have asked for an interview," Harry mused as he set the Prophet down and turned his attention to the cereal in front of him.

"She must have known we'd both refuse," Hermione suggested. "Merlin knows she's had enough experience of both of us to be able to work that one out."

Hermione had returned to her old self since Harry's proposal and both of them were very grateful for it. For months there had been an underlying sadness but now it was gone, and Hermione was completely indistinguishable from the girl Harry had been hugged by when he had awoken in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing after defeating Voldemort, except that she now permanently wore a golden ring, set with a diamond stone.

December was nearing, and the cold of winter was biting hard. Thick woollen coats, scarves, hats and gloves were necessary to keep warm and the first snows had begun to drift down and settle on the land.

So too had the Christmas shopping begun. Diagon Alley was packed with people almost constantly from when the shops opened their doors to when they closed them again. Fred and George, in particular, were doing a roaring trade.

"We're the only really good joke shop left," George had explained when Harry had come in to buy a small present for Sirius.

"Gambol and Japes went bankrupt," Fred continued, "and Zonko's was destroyed by the Death Eaters."

"And people need a laugh now," George said, a grin on his face, "so we're absolutely raking in the Galleons."

A few days later, everyone was invited to a get-together at the Burrow. Harry and Hermione arrived late in the afternoon, and had brought along a bottle of Elf made wine. They knocked on the door, and almost immediately it was swung wide open. They were greeted by Mrs Weasley, who immediately threw her arms around the pair of them and kissed them both on the cheek.

"Hello," she said, beaming, when she finally let them go. "Oh, it feels like forever since I last saw you."

"It has been a while," Harry agreed, smiling at the woman who for so long had been, and continued to be, the closest thing he had to a mother. He held out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, thank you, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley said, accepting it from him. "That's very kind of you."

They continued through to the Weasley's living room, where they found a throng of people already milling around. Fred and George were both there, sprawled out on the floor, each wearing a specially knitted jumper with his first initial on the front. Ron and Luna were sat together in an armchair, amazingly not kissing. Percy was sat rigidly on the sofa, back straight and horn-rimmed glasses pushed as far as possible up the bridge of his nose. Mr Weasley sat beside his son, a welcome sight after the trouble their relationship had gone through over the last few years. He seemed far more relaxed than Percy, slumping slightly in his seat, his arm resting on the arm of the sofa and a contented smile playing across his face. Bill and Fleur were sat on the floor, opposite Fred and George, while Dumbledore, hair and beard shining, stood near the door that led out into to the garden. Ginny was sat on the stairs, holding hands with Dean who, from his vantage point, was the first to see Harry and Hermione when they arrived.

"Hey you two," he called to them, waving. Everyone else's faces turned towards the doorway and the greetings rained down. Harry and Hermione made their way over to the chair where Ron and Luna were sitting and sat down on the floor next to it, hands linked together.

"Where's Charlie?" Harry asked Ron when he had sat down. "Is he still in Romania?"

"No," Ron replied, now looking slightly confused. "He's coming back tonight and staying for good. Says he's had enough of Romania. No idea where he is though."

Over the course of the next few minutes, more people arrived. Lupin and Tonks with Teddy, whose hair was now royal blue, arrived shortly after Harry and Hermione. Tonks sat on the floor, holding Teddy against her, while Lupin knelt behind her. Sirius arrived not long afterwards, sitting with Lupin.

By six o'clock, the Burrow was full of people, all of them talking and laughing. Mrs Weasley, helped by Harry, Ginny and Tonks, was preparing dinner and everyone was greatly looking forward to eating the full roast dinner that was being cooked.

"Dinner will be about half an hour," Mrs Weasley told them all as she checked the beef to see how cooked it was. "I hope everyone's hungry, there's a lot to eat."

There came a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," said Bill, standing up and making his way through the kitchen to the front door. Everyone heard it open and then Bill say, "Charlie!" in a loud and affectionate voice.

"Hey Bill," they heard Charlie reply. "This is my best friend, John."

"Hey there."

The voice of this new arrival, John, was distinctively American.

"We worked together in Romania," Charlie explained.

"You're very welcome here, John," said Bill, and seconds later the three men walked into the living room.

John was a tall man, almost as tall as Fred, George and Ron, with light brown hair that he kept short. He had a handsome face, with high cheek bones and eyes the colour of the sky on a summer's day.

"John Scott," he said, holding out his hand to Mr Weasley, who shook it. "Very pleased to meet you."

On John's hand, Harry could see, were burns and blisters; tell-tale signs that he worked with dragons.

When John had introduced himself to everyone, he and Charlie found an unoccupied spot in the room and started talking animatedly to the others.

Eventually, Mrs Weasley announced that dinner was ready. Dumbledore flicked his wand and instantly the dining table was made several times longer, so that everyone could sit at it comfortably. Soon, everyone was hungrily eating Mrs Weasley's excellent cooking.

"You are, unequivocally, the best cook I know, Molly," Sirius said, sincerely, swallowing a piece of chicken. Everyone around the table made noises of assent and Mrs Weasley blushed and beamed.

"Thank you," she said. "Now everyone tuck in."

Soon, the table was full of conversation.

"So tell us how he proposed," Luna and Ginny begged of Hermione, while Harry sat there smirking, not saying a word. Hermione had been dying to tell this story and he would let her have her moment.

Further down the table, John was engaged in conversation with Fleur about what it was like to be a foreigner in Britain.

"I love it," John said fervently. "Great people, great food," he indicated his own plate, "and great culture."

"I do love England," Fleur admitted, "but I will always love France. Ze weather is more, erm, agreeable, I think."

"So does most of Britain," Bill chuckled.

Sirius and Lupin were reminiscing about Hogwarts together.

"And do you remember the time," Sirius laughed, his eyes filled with tears of mirth, "that James got himself caught trying to sneak down to the kitchens?"

"I still can't believe he actually thought he was wearing that cloak of his," Lupin said, prompting the people around them, Dumbledore, Tonks, Fred and George, to laugh too.

Charlie was saying hardly anything. He was simply eating and listening, and Harry couldn't help but wonder why. He had always known Charlie to be quite talkative, and had enjoyed many conversations about Quidditch with him. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Mr Weasley address John.

"So, John, tell us about wizarding America. Where did you go to school?"

"There's three magical schools in America," John said, adopting a tone not unlike Hermione's when she was imparting knowledge. "I went to the Benjamin Franklin Wizarding Academy, which is mixed. There's also the Salem Witches Institute, which is just for girls, and Lincoln College, which is only open to boys."

"Do you use the same spells as us?" Ginny asked. "I've always wondered that."

"Yeah, we do," John said, nodding. Harry had to admit that he was impressed with how John was coping with being the centre of attention for all of these people, all but one of whom he had only just met.

"The same spells are used in every country," Hermione said. It seemed that she was unable to stay quiet when she had facts to share. "I mean, they're not exactly English words, are they?"

The rest of the meal carried on in much the same way. John was, naturally as he was a complete unknown, asked a lot of questions and he graciously answered them all . He had been born the son of a witch and wizard in Chicago, had soon heard of Voldemort, Dumbledore and Hogwarts as a child, gone to the Benjamin Franklin Academy from the age of eleven to seventeen before going on to work with the dragons of North America, travelling all over America and Canada. He had even, so he claimed and Charlie verified, discovered a completely new breed of dragon in the northernmost islands of Canada, which he had named the Canadian Icebreath. As a result, he had been asked by the Department of Magic, the equivalent of the Ministry of Magic, to represent the United States in the International Dragon Study being conducted in Romania, where dragons were most populous. It was here that he had met Charlie, and the two had become instant and firm friends.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room for general conversation and socialising. When everyone had sat down, John stood up. Everyone was politely bemused, and waited for John to speak.

"I just want to say," John said, smiling around at them all, "that you have made me feel very welcome here among you all. And I hope, I sincerely hope, that I will be seeing a lot more of you all in the days, weeks, months and years to come."

He sat back down, receiving a round of applause from everyone for his kind words. It was then that Charlie stood. He was visibly far more nervous than John. He was slightly pale and his legs were trembling a little, even though his voice was completely calm.

"I think it's time I told you all something," he said, looking around at them all. "John here is not just my best friend. He is also my partner. In the romantic sense."

There were some intakes of breath and definite looks of shock on people's faces, not least of all Mr and Mrs Weasley. Even Fred and George seemed to be completely lost for words as Charlie continued.

"I'm gay," he said, matter-of-factly, "and proud of it. If any of you have a problem with that, tell me now."

There was a moment of horrible and intense silence, everyone in the room waiting to see if anyone would speak and who it would be. No one spoke. Then, rising to his own feet, Dumbledore spoke to Charlie.

"Well done, Charlie," he said, beaming at him, his eyes sparkling. "I myself never had the strength to do what you have just done until much later in my life."

"Thank you, professor," Charlie replied, smiling widely at Dumbledore. He was growing visibly more confident every second that somebody did not voice opposition to his sexuality. He turned to Mr Weasley.

"Dad? How do you feel about it?"

"Couldn't be happier," Mr Weasley replied, smiling at his second son. "I always suspected, you know. I mean, you've never had any girlfriends or even shown an interest in women."

"That's true," Mrs Weasley said, nodding. "I think I've always known, dear, and it doesn't bother me one little bit."

Gradually, everyone else in the room voiced similar opinions. Finally, only Percy was left to say anything.

"What about you Perce?" Charlie asked his younger brother. By now John was stood by his side, holding his hand. All eyes fixed on the third Weasley brother, whose face was completely unreadable.

"I know you're all expecting me to be the odd one out and be the raging homophobe," Percy said, "but that's not who I am." He stood and walked towards his brother. "Whatever sexuality you are," he said, looking straight into Charlie's eyes, "you're my big brother." He held out his hand, obviously wanting Charlie to shake it. Charlie, however, enveloped Percy in a hug that Percy looked uncomfortable with but nonetheless returned it.

"A toast, I think," barked Sirius from his corner, raising his glass of fire whiskey. "To Charlie and John."

"Charlie and John," everyone echoed, clinking glasses together. Charlie and John, confident now and sure that they were accepted, wrapped their arms around each other, looked into each other's eyes, and kissed.


	14. Television, Hidden Talent and a Ball

_A/N: Yes, Charlie's gay. He and John (who is based on the American-British singer/actor/gay rights activist John Barrowman) will be recurring characters throughout the rest of the story. There's a bit of an anachronism in this chapter but I hope you will forgive._

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Television, Hidden Talent and a Ball**

By December, Charlie and John had become fully integrated into the enormous web of people that made up the social circles that Harry and Hermione were part of. They were at most of the parties and social gatherings that were held and nobody cared that they were gay. John actually told them that it was quite a relief.

"There's quite a lot of homophobia in the US," he had told them, "even among wizards. And while they're by no means the majority, it's still a problem."

One morning, about a week before, Christmas, Harry awoke to the sound of what was definitely Muggle Christmas music playing downstairs.

"Hermione can you-" he began, but Hermione wasn't there. Straining his ears, he could hear her and Sirius downstairs, laughing as Hermione attempted to teach him the Muggle songs.

Harry was dressing, pulling his jeans on, when he heard a tapping on the window. Turning, he saw a brown and white barn owl tapping its claw on his window, a rolled up scroll tied to its leg. Harry crossed to the window and let the owl in. It hopped inside and extended its leg. Harry untied the scroll and then gave the owl a Galleon as a tip. As it flew away, Harry unrolled the letter.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_You have been cordially invited to a Ministry of Magic Victory Ball to celebrate the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Death Eaters. As the guest of honour, your presence would be most welcome. The Ball will be held in the Ministry of Magic atrium and will commence at seven o'clock on the evening of the 24__th__ of December, finishing at half-past midnight. _

_Hoping you will attend,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_

Harry suspected that this was in fact a generic invitation, identical to those sent to everyone else who had been invited save for the name and the mention of his being the guest of honour. Kingsley himself would doubtless have sent a more personal invitation.

Harry finished dressing and went downstairs. As he entered the kitchen he said,

"Hermione, we've been invited to a-"

"Ministry of Magic ball," Hermione finished. Looking up, Harry saw that she and Sirius were also holding scrolls of parchment.

"We don't have to go, do we?" Sirius asked, clearly dreading the idea of a Ministry of Magic Victory Ball.

"I sort of do," Harry said, resigning himself to the fact that 'cordially invited' had actually meant 'your presence is required'.

"And if you're going, I will as well," Hermione said. "I'll not have you suffering by yourself."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling at her and laughing.

"Oh fine," Sirius said, with a great air of resignation, "I'll come as well. I think a shopping spree is in order. We all need new dress robes."

At the words 'shopping spree', Hermione's eyes had lit up and Harry knew that she was already imagining what her dress would look like.

"I wonder who else has been invited?" he wondered aloud.

"We'll find out before the night, I'm sure," Sirius said. "It's three weeks away yet."

However, they did not have to wait long. All morning owls were sent and conversations hare over the floo network about the Ministry's Ball. All Ministry employees were invited, as well as old members of the Order of the Phoenix and anyone who had been held in Azkaban for resisting Voldemort during his brief but terrible reign. It came as no surprise to anyone that this included almost all of the people that Harry knew, excluding only perhaps Draco Malfoy and the Dursleys, none of whom he had had any contact with for a very long time.

Just days after the arrival of the invitations, Hermione took Harry robe shopping with her. Madam Malkin's was, naturally, their first stop.

"So I'll take ten minutes to find something and then hang round, yes?" Harry joked, making Hermione laugh.

"Try to drag it out a little bit," Hermione said. "It'll only get worse the closer we get to the wedding."

Harry tried not to think about it, and consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't be there for the dress shopping and the other bridal matters. He knew full well that he and Ron, who had gladly consented to be his best man, would be able to get everything they needed in one day, whereas Hermione and her bridesmaids, Ginny and Luna, would take months to acquire everything.

Harry's prediction was proved correct. Just fifteen minutes after walking into Madam Malkin's Harry had purchased his new set of dress robes, while Hermione had barely even begun to look for her own, having thoroughly assessed and rejected only two dresses and beginning the same rigorous process on a third. It was a beautiful thing of dark blue silk, with a silver trim. Hermione officially declared it a possibility before moving on.

All in all, it took almost an hour before she had finally decided on two finalists: the dark dress and an equally beautiful golden one, made from Egyptian cotton.

"What do you think?" she asked Harry, holding them both up to show him.

"I have absolutely no idea," Harry replied, simply. "All I know is that you will look utterly gorgeous in either."

Hermione looked at him pleadingly, silently imploring him for a decision that she was finding it impossible to make.

"I think," Harry said, trying desperately to weigh up the pros and cons about each dress in as little time as possible, "that you should go with the… gold one," he eventually decided.

"You sure?" Hermione asked.

"Definitely," Harry said, trying to convince himself as much as Hermione. "The dark blue would make you look like you were depressed about something."

Hermione laughed.

"Alright then," she said. "This dress please, Madam Malkin."

"That'll be fifty Galleons, dear," Madam Malkin said. Harry leapt forward, money bag in hand.

"There you go," he said, pouring some Galleons into Madam Malkin's hand. "And keep the change."

Madam Malkin looked bemused but pleased nonetheless as she went back behind her counter. Harry and Hermione were just turning to leave, purchases in hand, when they almost walked straight into two people.

"Sorry," Harry said. Then he looked at the person.

A blonde young man with a pale face, looking at Harry with a mixture of surprise, recognition and, unmistakably, fear. It was Draco Malfoy, wearing a dark green suit. Harry looked at his companion and saw a rather pretty young woman who smiled at Harry and Hermione in a friendly manner.

"Hello," Draco said quietly, looking at the floor.

"Hey," Harry said. "How have you been?"

"Good," Draco replied simply. There was a moment's pause. "This is Astoria," he said, gesturing to the woman.

"Hello," Harry said, extending his hand to Astoria.

"Hi," Astoria said, smiling at him. "Do you know Draco then?"

"Could say that," Harry replied. He was quite sure that Astoria had no idea who he was. His hair was covering up his scar, after all.

"Honestly Harry," Hermione said, "anyone would think you'd forgotten how to make conversation."

"Harry?" Astoria asked. "Harry Potter?" Harry nodded. "Draco's told me about you," she said. "Says you saved his life."

Harry was surprised. He had expected that Draco would only talk about him in a scathing manner, with plenty of 'that Potter's punctuating his speech. Instead he discovered that all Draco had told Astoria, whom Harry presumed was his girlfriend judging by the way they were holding hands and the way she looked at him, was that Harry had saved his life.

"What happened to Parkinson?" Harry asked, almost subconsciously. Pansy Parkinson had been Draco's girlfriend at school, and she had seemed utterly devoted to him.

"Came to my senses," Draco replied, still not looking Harry in the eye. "That and her father called off the agreement."

"There was an agreement?" Hermione asked.

"Families like the Malfoys tend to make marriage agreements with other Pure-blood families," Draco said, and Harry noted that he sounded ashamed and embarrassed. "There's this belief that we have to keep the bloodline pure or we're lesser wizards for it. My parents abandoned You-Know-Who so, according to Nero Parkinson, we're blood traitors."

"Well luckily the Greengrass's aren't so narrow-minded," Astoria said, standing on tiptoe to kiss Draco on the cheek. He smiled at the contact.

"So how did you two meet?" Hermione asked Astoria.

"I was walking through Diagon Alley a couple of months ago," Astoria said. "I'd had a bad day, it was raining heavily and I was thoroughly miserable. I wasn't looking where I was going and I just walked into someone and fell over, face down onto the cobbled stones. Broke my nose."

"I'm just trying to work out what's happened," Draco said, joining in the story with a smile on his face, "when I turn round and see this woman, soaked to the bone, blood all over her face."

"So then he kneels down," Astoria said, beaming at Draco and staring at him with adoration in her eyes, "fixes my nose and helps me clean my face. Then, I didn't really think about it, I just kissed him. And we sort of went from there really."

Hermione let out an 'Awwwh' while Harry just stood there smiling.

"Anyway," Draco said, "we'll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. Nice to see you again."

Draco and Astoria walked into the shop, while Harry and Hermione left it.

"Ironic, really," Harry said to himself.

"What is?" Hermione asked.

"That's where I first met Draco," Harry said. "My eleventh birthday. Hagrid brought me here to buy all my school stuff and he was in Madam Malkin's getting his robes."

After lunch at the Dancing Leprechaun, Harry and Hermione returned home. They found a surprise waiting for them.

"Hello you two," said Sirius as they entered the house. "Got everything you need?"

"Yep," Harry replied, setting the bags down and walking through to the kitchen. He discovered that Sirius was not alone. Mr Weasley was sat next to him, a bowl of soup before him on the table.

"Arthur's been putting in some Muggle technology," Sirius explained, in answer to Harry's unasked question. "We've got a telefashion now."

"Television," Harry, Hermione and Mr Weasley all corrected simultaneously.

"Yes, that," Sirius said. "We've got it working and it doesn't go all weird if you use a spell around it."

Harry, genuinely intrigued, went through to the living room to see a television set up in the corner of the room. He picked up the remote control, pressed the '1' button, and immediately the Muggle BBC One appeared on the screen. He took his wand out of his jeans pocket.

"Diffindo," he said, pointing it at a cushion on the sofa, which duly ripped. The television screen didn't alter in the slightest. Harry repaired the cushion with a flick of his wand and settled down on the sofa, changing to Channel Four and indulging himself in Friends.

"Ooh Friends!" came Hermione's voice the moment the theme tune started playing. She dashed into the living room and cuddled up next to Harry, who wrapped his arm around her and kissed her forehead lightly.

"I used to watch this sometimes at the Dursley's," Harry said, smiling at the screen. "It was the only thing Dudley and I ever had in common."

"It's my favourite programme," Hermione said as the title credits drew to a close.

"What are you two so excited about?" Sirius asked. Then he looked at the screen. "Merlin, it's like they're in the room with us!"

Mr Weasley soon joined them, and within minutes the four of them were all watching the screen, Harry and Hermione having to explain some of the jokes to Sirius and Mr Weasley.

One week later and the novelty of the television still did not appear to have worn off. Now that everyone in their circle of friends knew that they owned one, the house was often full of people who had come to watch some programme or other. This was fine until the times conflicted. Often who would get to watch what they wanted would be settled through a duel in the garden, which Harry often thought was far more entertaining than anything that could be found on a Muggle television network.

Of course the muggle borns and half-bloods among the group were not nearly as entertained by the new device as the pure-bloods were. Dean, for example, had lived with a television all his life and was perfectly accustomed to the huge variety of viewing material available.

One snowy night a few days before Christmas, Harry discovered something about Hermione that he had never known before.

He had been sitting in the living room, watching a Muggle Christmas film, 'A Christmas Carol', when he heard something coming from upstairs. It was a sound more beautiful than any he had ever heard before. He turned off the television instantly and listened hard. The sound developed into music, and from music into a piece. It put him in mind of a dark night in a tranquil forest, snow gently fluttering down around him, Hermione's hand in his as they walked together. He could see it as clearly as if it were happening. They would stop, gaze into each other's eyes and kiss. It would be a long, drawn-out, romantic kiss that conveyed all the feelings that they had for each other.

He opened his eyes and went upstairs. The music grew louder as he approached the loft. He climbed up and found a grand piano stood in the centre of a cosy room. Harry had not even known about the loft conversion, but now saw that it seemed to be Hermione's place to escape the world. Pictures of the two of them together were dotted throughout the room, in the centre of which stood a grand piano. Walking up to it, Harry saw Hermione sat at it, her eyes closed and her fingers playing across the keys with what seemed to him to be masterful skill. She didn't appear to have realised he was there, and so he simply sat on the floor next to her and listened to her play.

When the piece reached its conclusion, he clapped softly. Hermione jumped and turned to face him. Harry could see that tears were making their way down her face in narrow rivulets.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong," Hermione replied. "This piece always makes me cry, but they're happy tears, I promise."

"What's it called?"

"Berlin Song," Hermione replied. "It's by a Muggle, an Italian called Ludovico Einaudi."

"It's beautiful," Harry said. "And since when could you play the piano?"

"I first started having lessons when I was nine," Hermione replied.

"Well then no wonder you're brilliant," Harry said, smiling at her before kissing her softly.

"I love you, Harry," Hermione said after a moment. "And I never say it enough."

Harry replied by bending down and kissing her, making sure it was exactly like the one he had just imagined. His hands explored her hair as hers cupped his cheek. She stood up, parting only for air before pressing her lips firmly against his once again. Without thinking, he lifted her up and spun her before putting her gently back on the ground. They kept kissing for several minutes before Hermione, eyes still closed and breathing heavily said, "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom," Harry agreed.

When Christmas Eve rolled round, all either Harry or Hermione could think of was the impending Ministry ball.

"I cannot tell you how much I'm dreading this," Harry said as they woke up.

"I'm rather looking forward to it," Hermione said as she climbed out of bed and, as usual, summoned her clothes to her from the wardrobe.

"You enjoyed the last one," Harry observed. "You got to dance with Viktor Krum all evening. I hated it."

"Well you're not going with Parvati this time are you?" Hermione pointed out, getting back on the bed and kissing his chest. "You're going with your fiancée."

"Oh okay," Harry said, grinning, "I think I can sweat it out."

At four, Hermione announced that she was going to get ready.

"Do all women take three hours to get ready for stuff like this?" Harry asked Sirius, who nodded gravely.

"A lot of waiting around is required of men, Harry. Remember that."

It was about six o'clock before Hermione came downstairs. Harry had to admit that the time had been well spent. He thought Hermione looked beautiful all the time, but this surpassed anything he had ever seen before. He hair was sleek, shiny and straight and she had just the right amount of makeup on. She looked absolutely amazing, and Harry couldn't help his mouth falling open. Hermione, smiling already at how she looked, laughed at his expression. She kissed his slightly open mouth, which brought him back to his senses.

"You look…" he said, trailing off.

"What?" Hermione asked. "How do I look?"

"Like a goddess," Harry replied, making Hermione smile even wider.

"You look great, Hermione," Sirius said, smiling at her.

"Thanks Sirius," she said, smiling at him too. "Go on boys, go and get ready. Ball starts in an hour."

"Mione, it takes us ten minutes to get ready," Harry said. "We'll give it a bit of time yet."

It was not until half-past six that Harry and Sirius ascended the stairs to get ready for the ball. Just as Harry had predicted, both were downstairs, ready, by quarter-to.

"Thank God that's the only thing you do quickly," Hermione whispered in his ear, winking at him as she straightened up. Harry blushed and grinned at her cheekily.

The three of them apparated to the Ministry and found themselves in the atrium, amid hundreds of other men and women dressed in their finery. Looking around they could see most of the people they knew. All of the Weasleys were present, along with their partners, as were all the members of the Order of the Phoenix. The Hogwarts staff were present too, including Severus Snape, dressed in his usual black and not showing an ounce of joy at being at the ball. Beside him stood the enormous Horace Slughorn, beaming around at everyone and laughing jovially at his own jokes, which Snape appeared to be doing his best to ignore. The new head of the Auror Office, Virgil Tabberworth, was stood with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dumbledore, who were both clutching glasses in their hands.

"Fancy a drink?" Sirius asked.

"Please," Harry replied. "I'll have a butterbeer. Mione?"

"Same for me too please Sirius," Hermione said. Sirius nodded and strode towards the incredibly long bar, which Harry now noticed was manned by hundreds upon hundreds of House Elves. Yet more Elves dashed about their feet, carrying trays of food high above their heads. Harry saw that they were all wearing waistcoats, shirts, trousers and bow ties and didn't seem to have any adverse feelings towards the garments whatsoever.

"You got that law passed then?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes," she replied proudly. "House Elves can now only be dismissed by a formal notice and only for a serious infraction. No more 'You set the table for five, but there are four of us. This means clothes!'"

"I'm so proud of you," Harry said, kissing her softly as Sirius came back with their drinks.

"Right, I'm going to mingle," Sirius announced. "See you later." And he walked off, fire whiskey in hand, to talk to Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Fancy a dance?" Harry asked Hermione once he had drained his glass and an Elf had taken it away almost immediately.

"I thought you hated dancing," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

"I did," Harry agreed, nodding, "but I imagine that dancing with your fiancée is different to dancing with some girl." He made a show of bowing to Hermione and proffering his hand to her. "Hermione Granger," he said, "will you consent to dance with me?"

"I will, Mr Potter," Hermione replied, smiling at him.

They glided onto the dance floor, which Fred and Angelina Johnson, George and Katie Bell, and Charlie and John were already on. Hermione gave the lead to Harry, which he took in his stride, dancing like a trained professional.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" Hermione asked, pleasantly surprised.

"I started taking lessons the day after we got the invitations," he said, grinning. "I didn't want you to be embarrassed to dance with me, now did I?"

Hermione nestled her head in his chest, her eyes closed and her mouth curled in a blissful smile.

"I love you so much," she said as they danced.

"I love you too," Harry replied, kissing the top of her head.

At midnight, Kingsley declared the ball to be over and wished everyone a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year, which everyone then said to each other as they departed.

When Harry and Hermione arrived home, they found someone waiting for them. Dobby was sat in their living room, a present clutched in his hands.

"Merry Christmas, Harry Potter sir!" the Elf squeaked as he handed Harry the present.

"Thanks Dobby," Harry said as he opened it. It was a book.

_Wrong Man_

_The best-selling new autobiography from Sirius Black._


	15. The Unexpected Visitor

_A/N: I'd like to thank you all for the many wonderful reviews I have had for this story. I very much appreciate it. In other news, the piece that Hermione played in the last song, Berlin Song by Ludovico Einaudi, is a real piece. Go away and look it up on YouTube when you've read this and be amazed by its beauty._

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Unexpected Visitor**

Christmas was a quiet affair that year. Harry and Hermione wanted to have it to themselves, so Sirius had gone to stay with Lupin and Tonks on Christmas Eve night after the ball. They had awoken to a house devoid of everyone but themselves and Dobby, who had insisted on making their Christmas as comfortable as possible.

"Really, Dobby, you don't-" Harry began, but gave up when he saw that the Elf was busying himself with the Christmas dinner.

"Dobby wants to, Harry Potter. Dobby wants to make sure that Harry Potter does not have to strain himself at Christmas."

"Well don't overdo it," Harry said, wanting to make sure that the Elf did not collapse from overwork.

Just before lunch, Harry and Hermione opened their gifts, taking it in turns to open one gift each until they had finally reached the gifts from each other. Harry opened his slowly, watching Hermione's face, taking in her look of anticipation as to whether or not he would like what she had got for him. Finally, he revealed the gift. His mouth fell open.

"Tickets for every game of the Quidditch World Cup in Ireland!" he exclaimed, an enormous smile appearing on his face. "Thank you so much, Mione."

"You're welcome," Hermione said, also smiling widely. "Okay, my turn."

Rather than open it slowly Hermione tore into her present. Her eyes lit up when she saw what it was.

"Oh Harry, you remembered!" she gasped, throwing her arms around Harry's neck and kissing him. In her hand she was clutching a silver locket in the shape of a small heart, with room for two photographs inside. Hermione had seen this locket in the window of Ragbag's Goblin Wares almost three months prior and Harry had made a mental note to buy it for her for Christmas.

There came a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Hermione, standing up and going to the door. She opened it, prepared to welcome one of their friends and wish them a merry Christmas.

Who she saw, however, was not who she had been expecting.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Hermione asked angrily, glaring.

"I came to apologise," Sophie Granger replied in a small voice, looking quite forlorn. She was covered in snow and wore a sad expression.

"For what?" Hermione replied, sarcastically. "For trying to sabotage my happiness? For hurting me more than I've ever hurt before? For believing Darren's lies over my word? For trying to hurt Harry as well?"

"Yes," Sophie replied, simply. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am."

"And dad?"

At this, Sophie Granger faltered. Her eyes went to the ground and she shuffled her feet. She was definitely uncomfortable.

"Your father and I are going through a bit of a… erm… rough spot," she said after a minute or two.

"Again?" Hermione asked. She didn't sound sympathetic – she wasn't. Nor was she surprised. Her parents had had at least three 'rough spots' every year for as long as she could remember. Divorce had always been a very real possibility and Hermione had more than once found herself, in the later years, packing a suitcase just in case she needed to get away from it all.

Sophie nodded.

"It's a little bit worse than the others," she said. "Your father's been… er..." Suddenly, Sophie broke down crying. Hermione, despite herself, felt genuinely sorry. She thought she knew how that sentence ended.

"Who is she?" she asked, pre-empting the end of her mother's sentence.

"Some woman he met in a pub," she replied. "Younger and prettier, of course."

Hermione said nothing. She was still furious, incandescent with anger, at the woman stood before her, and she was still waiting for the promised apology. But she could not help but feel a small twinge of sympathy for her mother, the woman who had brought her up and had, in all fairness, always provided for her.

From behind her, Hermione heard Harry calling to her.

"Still there Mione? If it's carol singers give them some money and tell them to go away!"

Sophie Granger gave a small laugh, which Hermione suspected was a courtesy more than anything else. She glared at her mother for a few more moments before finally speaking.

"What do you think of me being with Harry?" she asked, staring her mother straight in the eye.

"I think it's none of my business," Sophie replied. "If you want to be with him darling-"

"No!" Hermione snapped, making her mother jump and Harry to call 'Everything alright Mione?' from the living room. "No," she said again, more calmly this time. "You do not get to do what you did and call me darling. Not now."

"I understand," Sophie said sadly. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"Yes," Hermione said after a second's hesitation. "You can apologise to Harry, you can apologise to me, you can apologise to both of us, and then you can apologise to our friends. They were all so angry with you and so worried about me, I think it's fair to say you caused them nearly as much pain as you did us."

"I'll do that," Sophie said, her tone sincere and her facial expression matching it. "I will, Hermione, I promise."

"Good," Hermione said, shortly and coldly. "And you can start right now. Harry's in the living room. You can apologise to him now."

Hermione led her mother through to the living room, where Harry was sat on the sofa waiting for her to return.

"Who was at the-" he began, but stopped when he saw Sophie. His mouth opened in surprise and it was a few seconds before he managed to regain control of it and speak. "Hello, Mrs Granger," he said.

"Hello Harry," Sophie said, looking apologetic already. "I've come to apologise."

"You don't have to," Harry said, earning him a glare from Hermione.

"Yes she bloody well does," Hermione said. "She hurt you, me and almost everyone we know."

"Hermione's right," Sophie said. "I really do have to apologise. I'm sorry, Harry. So sorry. I'm sorry that I thought badly of you. You're obviously a very good man for Hermione if you're engaged. She wouldn't say yes to just anybody."

Hermione looked at her mother in surprise.

"I never told you I was engaged," she said, somewhat warily. Harry knew that she was wondering if her mother had been spying on them.

"You're wearing the ring, dear," her mother explained. "It's unmistakably an engagement ring." She tried a small smile that failed miserably before facing the two of them. "I really am so, so sorry about what I did and how I acted," she said. "It's obvious to me now that you two are meant for each other and you have my completely uninhibited blessing."

There was a moment's silence, both Harry and Hermione waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Hermione realised that Harry was lost for words and so she simply said, "Thanks, mum."

A small but real smile appeared on Sophie's face at the sound of her maternal title and she looked at her daughter imploringly.

"Please forgive me, dear," she said. "I was a bloody idiot and my immaturity would have shocked a ten year old. Please, can I have my Hermione back."

"I'll think about it," Hermione said. Harry, not wanting to see Sophie Granger pour her heart out for nothing, decided to intervene.

"Mione, can I have a quick word?" he said. "Dobby!" There was a _crack _as the Elf apparated to his side.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?"

"Please keep Mrs Granger entertained until Hermione and I come back. We'll only be a few minutes."

He went upstairs, going up to their bedroom, Hermione following him. He closed the door behind him, pointed his wan at the door and said "Muffliato."

"What do you want Harry?" Hermione asked in an uncharacteristically frustrated tone.

"I want you to be the Mione I love, please," Harry said, looking at her with wide eyes. "Your mother has just offered you and I both a heartfelt apology and the best you can offer her is a 'You'll think about it'?"

Hermione looked genuinely shocked at his words.

"You don't actually forgive her, do you?"

"Yes, actually."

"How?" Hermione was wide eyed with her mouth hanging open now, her hands out in front of her in a gesture of incredulity. "She hurt us both so badly."

"I know," Harry said, being very careful not to say anything that might result in a serious falling-out between the two of them, "but she obviously wants to make amends. Now I'm not saying we let her off the hook," he said quickly, before Hermione could interrupt him, "and I don't think we should just forget about what she did. But I do think that we should at least grant her this chance to make it up to us."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, closed it again and walked towards Harry, wrapping her arms around him.

"You're right," she said, with the air of someone admitting they're wrong. "I might not like her but she does deserve a chance."

"Thank you," Harry said, kissing Hermione's forehead. "Now let's go back downstairs and celebrate Christmas, shall we?"

They descended the stairs holding hands. When they entered the living room, they found Dobby handing Hermione's mother a cup of tea.

"Thank you Dobby," she said, accepting the cup and saucer from him as the Elf returned to the kitchen. Then she noticed Harry and Hermione returning and set the tea down, standing up as if honouring royalty.

"Harry's made me see sense," Hermione said to her mother. "I can't forget what you did, and that would be unwise anyway, but I am willing to give you a second choice. You have apologised to me and Harry and I trust you enough to think that it was sincere."

"Thank you, darling," Sophie said, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. When Hermione did not protest at being called 'darling', she moved forward and the two women exchanged a hug. It was brief and Hermione clearly did not relish it but it was progress, and Harry smiled to himself.

"Will you stay for Christmas dinner, Mrs Granger?" Harry asked Sophie.

"Please, dear, call me Sophie," Mrs Granger said, smiling at him now, "and yes, thank you, I will."

Sophie Granger left shortly after Christmas dinner had been consumed. As the front door closed behind her mother, Hermione buried herself in Harry's chest.

"Please tell me that it'll get easier to be in the same room as her," she said.

"I'm sure it will," Harry said, kissing the top of her head. "Just give it time, You'll see that she's changed and hopefully you'll get on with her again." Hermione merely shrugged noncommittally. "Where's your dad?" Harry asked after a moment. "Your mum didn't mention him."

"They're not really on speaking terms at the moment," Hermione explained. "Mum says he's been sleeping with another woman."

Harry felt a stab of sympathy for Sophie Granger, knowing how much she must be hurting right now what with both her daughter and her husband being less than friendly with her.

"I'd say that's all the more reason for you to try to patch things up with her, don't you?" Harry said, pulling back from Hermione and looking into her eyes. Hermione just shrugged again. "It is and you know it," Harry said, a little more firmly. Suddenly, Hermione pushed him away and glared at him.

"Why are you so desperate for me to make up with her?" she demanded. "I don't understand how you can have forgiven her!"

"I don't want to see you throw away a chance to make up with your mum," Harry said, being very careful not to raise his voice at all. "I get that you're angry at her, I really do. But you've always been so level-headed and objective. Don't become something else right when it matters most," he finished in an imploring tone.

Hermione glared at him for a couple more seconds then relented, looking at him apologetically.

"You're right again," she said, quietly. "She's making an effort, so I can too."

"Thank you," Harry said, very relieved that they had managed to avoid a crisis. He pulled Hermione towards him and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, their eyes closed and their hands in each other's hair. "And I think I know just how to finish off Christmas," Harry said cheekily, grinning at Hermione and winking.

"What a present," Hermione said, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows quickly.


	16. Blood and Water

_A/N: So Hermione's forgiven her mum, but her dad's still nowhere to be seen. But we will see him again, I promise you. Now, on with this chapter. I'm sorry it's taken so long to write; I've been worried about my A-Level results. But I have them now, I got straight B's and I'm overjoyed. So here is the next chapter you've all waited for. Please read, review and, most importantly, enjoy._

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Blood and Water**

December soon became January, which in turn gave way to February, March and April. The snows of winter melted away to be replaced by the verdant grasses and colourful flowers of spring. For Harry and Hermione, and also Ron and Luna, the change in seasons meant that their anniversary was approaching.

"I can't believe it's nearly been a year," Harry said one morning over breakfast. "It's gone really quickly."

"It has," Hermione agreed, smiling at him. "Do you know why?"

Harry knew this was going somewhere. He could tell from the look on Hermione's face, the face that always meant that she had something really romantic to say.

"Go on," he said, grinning as he indulged her. "Tell me why."

"Because I love you," she said, smiling at him the way she did when she was in a romantic mood. It was a different smile than any of her other ones. It wasn't accompanied by a laugh, silent or otherwise, like her usual one was, nor the glazed eyes of her bedroom smile. It was a smile that told Harry that she loved him, and it was his favourite one.

"I love you too," he said, smiling back at her and looking into her eyes. They kissed.

"Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick," came Sirius's voice from the doorway as he walked into the room. Harry and Hermione both looked at him with raised eyebrows and he grinned at them.

"You've seen us kiss before," Harry said.

Sirius had no answer to this, so he contented himself with making toast. While his back was turned, Harry and Hermione resumed their kissing.

"I can hear you," Sirius said in a sing-song voice, making Harry and Hermione break down into silent laughter. "I almost dread to say this," Sirius began, turning to face them, toast in hand, "but I'm going to be out most of the day today. I'm babysitting for Remus and Dora. Will you two be alright?"

"We'll be fine, Sirius," Harry said. "We have had the house to ourselves before."

"Don't remind me," Sirius joked, clearly hoping to push certain images from his mind. "I'll finish this and then I'll go."

Sirius was as good as his word and apparated away the moment the final bite of toast had been swallowed.

"So," Harry said, turning back to Hermione and running his hand over her leg under the table, "we have the whole day ahead of us and to ourselves. What shall we do?"

"I actually think we should visit some people," Hermione said, making Harry a little disappointed. "Tell them about the wedding."

"Who do you have in mind?" Harry asked, thinking who there was left to tell. Hermione suddenly fell silent.

"Um…" she said after a few moments. "Well… I was… er… thinking that we should tell your… aunt and uncle."

Harry almost choked on his breakfast, so shocked was he at Hermione's suggestion.

"What?" he asked, not entirely convinced that Hermione had said what she said, or rather because he did not want to believe it.

"I think we should tell them," Hermione pressed, taking his hand in hers to try to comfort him. "They should at least know."

"But there's so much animosity," Harry insisted. "Particularly between me and my uncle."

"We're not forcing them to come," Hermione said, "just giving them the option." She could see that Harry was still hostile to the idea. "Blood is thicker than water," she said.

In the end, however, it took almost twenty minutes of persuasion from Hermione before Harry finally relented.

"Oh fine," he said, exasperated and covering his face with his hand. "We'll go."

"Today," Hermione said insistently, "before you change your mind. We'll apparate there."

"We can't," said Harry, silently hoping that Hermione's plan would fall through and he would not have to see his relatives again. "It's a Muggle suburb. We can't apparate."

"Isn't there an ex-Order member who lives near them?" Hermione asked. "Mrs Figg? We could apparate into her house."

"I don't think she'd appreciate…" Harry began, but faltered. He knew when he was beaten, and so did Hermione. The smug look on her face told him that.

"I'll send her an owl," she said. "Is Hedwig still out?"

"Maybe," said Harry, "though she might be back by now."

Hermione climbed the stairs up to their bedroom while Harry mentally prepared himself for the ordeal that was to come.

Hermione entered their room, and immediately saw Hedwig perched on the windowsill, devouring a vole. Hermione walked over to the snowy owl and stroked her feathers, to which Hedwig rubbed her head against Hermione's hand affectionately.

"Hey, Hedwig," she said, smiling at the owl as she nibbled Hermione's fingers. "I need you to take a letter."

Hedwig gave her a disappointed look and seemed to indicate her vole with her other leg.

"Don't worry," Hermione said, "I haven't written it yet. You'll still have time to eat."

Hedwig looked decidedly happier as Hermione sat down at the desk that she kept opposite to the bed and began to write.

The letter did not take her long to write; she had always been good with words and had no problem expressing her wishes on parchment. After just five minutes the letter was finished. It read:

_Mrs Arabella Figg,_

_I am the fiancée of Harry Potter, and I was wondering if Harry and I might be able to apparate into your home. We are going to visit his aunt, uncle and cousin and would like to avoid detection from Muggles in order to avoid trouble with the Ministry. I'm sure you understand. Please send your reply with Hedwig._

_Sincerely, _

_Hermione Granger_

Hermione attached the letter to Hedwig's leg, who flew off out the window and was soon out of sight. Hermione sat on the bed, sure that Hedwig would not be gone for long. She wondered, now that it was too late to turn back, had she done the right thing? Was it wise to make Harry face the people that he had spent almost all of his life hating? This would almost certainly result in a tense and uncomfortable meeting and they were highly unlikely to even come to the wedding. She would have put him through it all for nothing.

Except it's not for nothing, she told herself furiously. He needs to make his peace with the past and he needs to tell them what's happening in his life. They need to know that he's getting married and that he's happy. It might even do him good to be able to prove to them that they never broke him and that he can now have a normal life. You've done the right thing, Hermione Granger.

Hedwig tapped on the window only fifteen minutes after Hermione had sent her away. She got up and opened the window, allowing the owl to hop inside. Hermione stroked her by way of thanks and untied the scroll that was attached to Hedwig's leg. Hastily she read Mrs Figg's reply.

_Hermione_

_I have no objections whatsoever to you and Harry apparating into my house. All I ask is that you do not squash any of my cats._

_Arabella_

Hermione took the letter downstairs to Harry.

"She says it's fine," she said, putting the letter down in front of him. Harry looked as he had just before he had faced his dragon during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament in his Fourth Year. "It'll be alright," Hermione said. "If this goes appallingly, you never have to see them again. If not, then things still have a chance to get better."

Harry still not look convinced but he nodded and stood up.

"Okay," he said, exhaling loudly, "let's go."

The two of them joined hands and apparated, Hermione taking the lead. After the usual unpleasant feeling that accompanied apparaition they arrived in the middle of Mrs Figg's living room. Mrs Figg, who was sat on her sofa drinking tea, did not seem in the least bit perturbed by their sudden arrival. Indeed, her only reaction was to put her cup and saucer down on her coffee table.

"Hello you two," she said, smiling at them. "Chocolate cake?"

"No thank you, Mrs Figg," Hermione said. "I'm watching my weight. Got to be able to fit into my wedding dress after all?"

"Of course. Harry dear?"

"Thank you Mrs Figg, but no," Harry politely declined, having had quite enough experience of Mrs Figg's chocolate cake during his childhood and did not miss it.

"Okay," Mrs Figg said, sounding a little dejected but not letting it show on her face. "Well I suppose you two will want to be off now, yes?" she said. The two of them nodded. "Well off you go then," she said, waving them over to the door. "Good luck Harry."

Harry smiled in thanks as they left, being very careful not to trip over Mr Tibbles on his way out. Mrs Figg waved at them as they walked away before turning and going back to her tea.

Harry and Hermione walked down Wisteria Walk and along Magnolia Crescent, to Magnolia Road and onto Privet Drive, which was as Harry remembered it. Perfectly kept lawns, verdant in the bright sun of the summer, sat in front of the large houses on whose drives were kept immaculate cars.

Number Four, in particular, was impeccable. Uncle Vernon's car gleamed in the sunlight and the flower beds were in full bloom, with not a single plant out of place. Hermione glanced at Harry and saw that he was staring determinedly at the front door, bracing himself for what was about to come. Hermione gave his hand a squeeze and he turned to look at her. Her smiling face seemed to reassure him and he visibly relaxed.

They stopped in front of the front door and Harry looked at Hermione one more time before knocking. There was but a moment's pause before the door opened.

"We don't want whatever you're selling," said Aunt Petunia, who did not appear to have recognised or even noticed them, "so please just-"

She stopped very suddenly, gazing at Harry and Hermione as though she could not really see them, her mouth hanging open in a small 'o'. There followed a tense and awkward few seconds where nobody said anything, the silence seeming, somehow, deafeningly loud.

"Hello," Harry said eventually. His voice was quieter than he would have liked and his mouth dry. He coughed and made his mouth produce saliva to wet his throat. He would not, he was determined, sound as if he was scared.

"Hello," Aunt Petunia said, very taken aback by two people turning up on her doorstep who were, Harry suspected, the last two that she had ever expected to see again. "Come in," she said after a while, standing aside for them and almost bowing her head as if in awe. They walked past her, feeling slightly awkward as they removed their jackets and handed them to Aunt Petunia who hung them inside the cupboard where Harry had used to sleep. He grimaced at the memory of being shut in that tiny room with only the spiders and the old toy soldiers for company.

"Who was at the door, Petunia?" came Uncle Vernon's voice from the living room. Petunia said nothing. "Petunia?" Uncle Vernon asked when he received no reply. After a few more seconds of silence from Petunia, Vernon came to look. "Petunia-" he said, quite insistently, as he entered the hall. But he got no further than that before he saw Harry and Hermione, his face turning purple as his mouth fell open. "What in blazes are you doing here?" he demanded of Harry after a few moments of incoherent spluttering.

"Hermione made me come," Harry replied simply, gripping the handle of his wand inside his pocket just in case Vernon lunged. Instead, however, he continued to stand in the doorway to the living room, glass of wine in hand, gaping and turning more and more purple by the second. Harry thought that he would actually turn violet any second.

Hermione intervened.

"Harry's right," she said, making everyone come back to their senses and look at her, "I made him come because we have something to tell you." She gave Harry a look that both encouraged and directed him. "Tell them."

Harry inhaled deeply, steeling himself.

"Hermione and I are in a relationship. More than that, we're engaged and we're inviting you to the wedding. You'll get all the details in the actual invitation, I just wanted to tell you that you'd be welcome."

There was another silence, broken suddenly by the doorbell ringing.

"I'll get it," said Aunt Petunia, who looked very relieved to have a reason to excuse herself. She walked over to the door and opened it. "Hello Duddy," she said in the honeyed tones that she always reserved for her son.

"Hi mum," came Dudley's voice from the door. "Can I come in?" he said after a moment or two.

Harry turned, meeting Dudley's eye.

"Hey," he said, smiling awkwardly at his cousin.

"Hey," said Dudley, mouth open like his father. "What are you doing here?"

"We've been invited to their wedding, Diddykins," Aunt Petunia said before Harry could answer the question himself.

"Cool," was all Dudley could say. There was yet another silence; there had now been so many that Harry was growing bored of them.

"Will you stay for dinner?" Aunt Petunia asked Harry and Hermione, quite unexpectedly. Uncle Vernon looked horrified at the prospect, though he said nothing.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied after exchanging looks with Hermione. "Thank you."

The dinner was a disaster. Nothing went wrong, but it was spent mostly in stony silence, nobody speaking for long minutes. Occasionally Hermione or Aunt Petunia would attempt to break the deadlock but neither of them succeeded. Eventually, after the last morsel of dessert had been eaten and the last sip of wine drunk, Harry and Hermione bade the Dursleys farewell.

"Will we see you at the wedding?" Harry asked Dudley as they shook hands on the doorstep.

"I think so," Dudley said, "even if it's just me."

And with that, Harry and Hermione had departed, apparating straight from the Durselys' doorstep back to their house.

"Well that was a catastrophe," Harry said, grinning at Hermione. "But thank you for making me do that."

Hermione smiled at him and gave him a small kiss.

"Do you think it was for the best then?" she asked him.

"I do," Harry agreed, nodding. "You built bridges with your mother, I can do it with my aunt and uncle."

Hermione smiled again and they linked hands. Harry, however, noticed that Hermione was shaking and was now looking at the ground. She was scared, Harry knew, but of what he had no idea.

"Mione what's wrong?" he asked. Hermione didn't answer, so Harry tried again. "Mione? What's wrong?"

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

"Harry…" she began, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to see a small smile appear on her face. "Harry, I… didn't get… my last period."

Harry thought he knew what this meant, and he found himself completely out of his depth.

"Hermione…" he said, in an almost inaudibly small voice.

"Yes," Hermione said, hugging him close to her, "I'm pregnant."

They stood together in silence for a moment, neither of them saying anything. And then, simultaneously, they looked at each other, both of them wearing huge smiles, and embraced passionately, Harry's hand resting on Hermione's stomach.


	17. The Trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The Trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge**

Harry and Hermione had decided to keep the news of Hermione's pregnancy secret until after the wedding. This was not out of a fear of judgement or anything of that nature, it was just that Hermione didn't want her wedding day to be dominated by people asking about the baby. Her day, she was determined, would remain hers.

As June approached, Harry and Hermione both became increasingly nervous and excited for their forthcoming wedding, as did everyone else around them. Sirius, in particular, was taking his duty as Hermione's stand-in father very seriously, even going so far as to start referring to Hermione as 'his girl', something which greatly amused everyone.

"She's like the daughter he never had," Dumbledore had observed one afternoon when he had paid a visit to the house.

"I can't think of anyone better to stand in for that bastard father of hers," Harry said, smiling at his fiancée and his godfather as they practiced dancing together in the living room.

Dumbledore had looked down at Harry at his use of the profanity and Harry hastily mumbled 'Sorry, professor.'

The days and weeks had gone by quickly, and very soon there was only a week left until the 4th of June, the big day, the happiest day of their lives. It was on one night in that week that Harry and Hermione were sat alone on the sofa together, Sirius having retired to bed after an exhausting day, or so he said, giving interviews for various magazines and newspapers. The Quibbler, Witch Weekly, the Daily Prophet and many others had all wanted his opinion on new legislation banning the practice of imprisonment without trial. Sirius, having been a victim of such malpractice himself, had been all too happy to support the new laws wholeheartedly.

"You might get called as a witness for some of them," he had told Harry. "Dolores Umbridge's trial is in a couple of days."

Sirius had proven to be correct. The very next day, Harry had received a visit from a Ministry owl. Tied to its leg was an official scroll. Unfurling it, Harry read:

_Mr Harry James Potter_

_You are hereby summoned to appear as a witness in the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge, being held in Ministry Courtroom Ten tomorrow morning. Your presence would greatly help the proceedings and ensure that justice is properly done._

_Yours sincerely, _

_Percy Weasley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement Communications Officer_

Harry felt a grim satisfaction at this, knowing that that dreadful woman would be made to answer for her many crimes. Justice was, Harry thought, long overdue. As if his thoughts dictated his nerves, Harry felt the scar on his right hand sting, the words 'I must not tell lies' still just visible on his flesh.

"What's that?" Hermione asked as she came into the kitchen, her wet from the shower. Harry held the letter out to her and she read it quickly, her eyes darting from side to side. "Finally," she said when she had finished.

"Reckon there's any chance she'll get off?" Harry asked her casually, taking a sip from his mug of tea.

"Not at all," Hermione replied, just as casually, throwing the letter down and proceeding to make herself some breakfast.

There came a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Harry, walking over to the front door and opening it. Stood before him was a man he had never thought, or hoped, he would see again.

"Mr Granger," he said curtly, determined to be civil, even to this man whom he despised.

"Harry," Mr Granger said, in exactly the same tone. "Is Hermione in?"

"She is," Harry said, nodding once and not taking his eyes away from Richard Granger's own, "but I don't think she wants to see you."

"Oh?" Mr Granger asked, raising an eyebrow. "And why would that be?"

Harry gazed at the man before him, open mouthed and incredulous. How could he? How could he have the arrogance to come to their home and ask to see Hermione as if nothing had happened? How could he possibly have the gall to think that she would have forgiven him, when for nine months he had made no effort whatsoever to repair their relationship?

Before he could reply he heard Hermione from behind him.

"Harry, who is it?"

Richard Granger nodded at Harry, who called back to Hermione.

"I think you'd better come here, Mione."

"Why?"

"Just… Please."

Hermione got up from her chair and walked over to him. When she saw her father she glared at him.

"Get out," she said simply. "I don't ever want to see you again."

"Hermione-" her father said, sounding authoritarian even now, even after he had long since lost all of Hermione's respect.

"No!" Hermione snapped at him. "I don't want anything to do with you. It's been months and months and where the fuck have you been? With your new woman! At least mum made an effort! At least she's done everything she can to mend our bond! At least she cares about me!"

"Hermione-" her father tried again.

"SHUT UP!" Hermione screamed at him, tears springing forth from her eyes now. "I don't want you in my life!"

"Hermione it was your mother's idea that I come here," Richard said, trying to sound like a reasonable man, but only making Hermione glare at him more intensely. "She mentioned that you were getting married and I just thought that maybe you'd-"

"You thought that maybe I'd WHAT?" Hermione screamed at him, sending some birds from a nearby tree flying away in terror. "You thought that I'd let you give me away? That I'd let you be the one to walk me down the aisle to Harry, even after everything you put me through without a single show of remorse? Fuck off dad. I don't ever want to see you again."

She stormed back inside, leaving Richard looking forlorn.

"Could you talk to her?" he asked Harry.

"Go away," was all Harry said, before following Hermione and shutting the door in Richard Granger's face.

Harry found Hermione fuming in the living room.

"I've made it clear he's not getting what he wants," Harry said as he came in and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her. She cuddled up to him as she breathed heavily, her anger seeming to radiate from her. "Hermione you did well," he said, kissing her head lightly. "He had no right whatsoever coming here and asking that of you, none at all. He doesn't deserve to be in your life."

"I know," she said, still sounding angry. "How dare he come here and assume that I'd want him to give me away?"

"He's a bastard," Harry said, stroking her hair with one hand and her belly with the other. Hermione smiled at the hand on her stomach, and took it in her own.

"Who's a bastard?" Sirius asked as he came down the stairs. "Not me, I hope."

He looked at them and instantly realised that something serious had happened.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking very concerned.

"Hermione's dad just knocked on the door," Harry explained; Hermione was too angry to speak. "He wanted to give Hermione away at the wedding. Hermione made it very clear indeed that that wasn't going to happen."

Sirius looked outraged.

"He dared," he growled, sounding like the dog he sometimes transformed into, "to come here and do that to Hermione?"

Hermione nodded slowly. Sirius made to stride angrily for the door, but Harry stopped him.

"He's been told, Sirius," he said in a pacifying tone. "If he comes to the wedding uninvited, then you can say to him what you like."

Sirius still looked angry, but instead of going to the door he sat down next to Hermione on the other side and hugged her as she leant up away from Harry.

"He'll be sorry he hurt my girl," Sirius said, and a small laugh escaped Hermione's lips as she smiled a small smile and dried her eyes on her sleeve.

"I'm going upstairs," she said, standing up. "Come with me?" she asked Harry, holding out her hand for him to take.

"Of course I will," Harry replied, smiling at her and placing his hands in hers.

They ascended the stairs together, neither of them saying anything, until they came to the trapdoor that led up to the loft. Hermione tapped it with her wand and it opened, a leader descending from the hole. They climbed up into the room, Hermione closing the trapdoor after them before walking over to her piano and playing a piece of her own composition. Harry suspected that she was improvising; the piece conjured up images of abandonment and hurt, which felt very appropriate given what she had just been subjected to by that awful father of hers.

When the piece finished, with a crescendo which Harry took to signify how he and Sirius had comforted Hermione and made sure that everything would be alright, she came away from the instrument and sat on Harry's lap on the floor.

"Thank you for making sure he wouldn't come back," she said, kissing him. "I don't want to see him again. Ever."

"I know you don't," Harry said. "I don't much want to either."

They sat together for a long time, neither of them saying, stroking each other's hair and looking into each other's eyes, occasionally kissing.

"I love you," Hermione said softly, pressing her fingers lightly against his lips, "and I can't wait to be your wife."

"You don't have to wait too long," Harry replied, smiling at her. "Just until Saturday."

Hermione kissed him again.

"It can't come fast enough," she said, smiling at him.

The next day, Harry woke early. He left a note on Hermione's bedside table telling her that he had gone to Umbridge's trial and would be back as soon as possible. He dressed as quietly as possible so as not to wake her and proceeded downstairs. After a light breakfast of bacon and egg, he walked into the living room, threw Floo powder into the fire, stepped inside and said 'Ministry of Magic'.

Seconds later, Harry found himself thrown from one of the many fireplaces that lined the wall of the Ministry Atrium. All around him were wizards and witches, some wearing robes and hats of black while some wore some of crimson, the latter reminding him strongly of Muggle Cardinals and Medieval Inquisitors. Appropriate, he thought, considering what they were to do.

A voice called him over.

"Harry!"

Harry turned and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt, wearing black robes, standing a few feet away from him, beckoning him over.

"Hello Kingsley," Harry said, shaking his hand. "Or should I call you Minister?"

"Only while we're in the trial, Harry," Kingsley replied. "I assure you," he said, "this will be a fair trial. Madam Umbridge will receive the punishment she deserves."

"Azkaban if you ask me, Kingsley," Harry said, his face setting into a glare at the wall as the scar on the back of his hand stung again.

"And that will be the most likely outcome," Kingsley admitted. "Many people have been called as witnesses for the prosecution, yourself included, and no one has volunteered to come forward in Madam Umbridge's defence."

Harry, privately, thought that she deserved it.

As the minutes passed, more and more people Harry recognised arrived. Professors Dumbledore – who was dressed in the full regalia of the Supreme Mugwump – , McGonagall and Lupin arrived together, followed shortly by Mr Weasley accompanied by Fred and George. Harry was pleased to see Mary Cattermole, whom he had helped to rescue from Umbridge two years previously, had been called as a witness. He thought that Umbridge was getting exactly what she deserved.

At ten o'clock a loud voice sounded throughout the Atrium.

"All those participating in the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge please make your way to Courtroom Ten in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry followed the crowd to the many lifts that took people throughout the Ministry complex. Many people stepped aside to let him through, their stares following him. Harry crammed into a lift with several unsmiling members of the Wizengamot, their faces set in hard expressions. They were deadly serious about what they were doing, and Harry was willing to bet that some of them even enjoyed it.

The cool female voice of the Ministry's lifts sounded.

"Department of Mysteries."

Harry exited as soon as he was able and made his way towards the Courtroom, where he sat on the specially designated Witness Bench, alongside McGonagall, Lupin, the three Weasley men and Mary Cattermole. Dumbledore sat next to Kingsley on his left side, while a man Harry recognised as Pius Thicknesse sat on his right. Harry thought Thicknesse an odd choice to have been promoted to Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, but then Harry supposed that it was all politics. Thicknesse had done nothing of his own accord, and it was, Harry supposed, best to rebuild bridges.

When everyone was seated, Kingsley stood and called the Court to attention.

"The trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge," he said in a sonorous tone that carried throughout the cavernous room, "will now commence. Bring in the accused."

The great doors at the front of the room opened and Dolores Umbridge, dressed in her usual pink and flanked by two aurors, entered the room. She was not manacled, nor indeed was she restrained in any way. But Harry could not see a wand anywhere on her person and Umbridge herself looked terrified. She trembled violently from head to foot and Harry could not help but feel as though she deserved it after what she had put so many through. She was placed into the chair in the centre of the room, the same chair that Ludo Bagman, Igor Karkaroff, Barty Crouch Jr., Mary Cattermole and even Harry himself had all occupied. As she sat, Harry half expected the iron chains that had bound some of the previous occupants to it to appear and attach themselves to her wrists, though they did not. A profound silence fell as Kingsley prepared to speak.

"You are Dolores Jane Umbridge?" he asked.

"I am," came Umbridge's small voice in reply.

"Are you aware of the charges on which you are before this Court?"

"I am."

"I will reiterate for the benefit of those who do not know," Kingsley said, looking down at a piece of parchment in front of him. "Madam Umbridge is charged with enacting into law specieist legislation, in particular against werewolves, for ordering the attack on Harry James Potter by a pair of Dementors in 1995, for the use of cruel and unusual punishment upon pupils in your care at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with crimes against Muggle Born witches and wizards and for willingly joining Lord Voldemort's forces. How do you plead to these charges?"

Umbridge tried to look defiant, though she was still shaking with terror.

"Not guilty," she said, her voice cracking.

There was a rustle of noise from the assembled members of the Wizangamot and Harry even thought he heard a few snorts of derisive laughter. Kingsley quieted everyone with a wave of his hand.

"Let the scribe record that Madam Umbridge pleaded not guilty," he announced. "Let it also be known that should Madam Umbridge be found guilty, her plea will result in a more severe penalty." There was a pause before Kingsley spoke again. "We will now begin prosecution on the first charge. I call now the first witness for the prosecution, Professor Remus John Lupin."

Lupin stood and made his way to the witness box.

"You are Remus John Lupin?" asked Thicknesse.

"I am," Lupin replied.

"You are the current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School?"

"I am."

"This is a position you have held previously, I understand?"

"It is," Lupin replied. "I also held the position between September of 1993 and June of 1994."

"And how did you come by this position?" Thicknesse asked.

"I was given the job by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore," Lupin replied. "I find it highly doubtful that I would have been able to procure a job otherwise."

"And why do you feel that is?"

"Mainly because of the anti-werewolf legislation introduced my Madam Umbridge," Lupin replied. "Her creation of the Werewolf Registration Office in 1989 made my condition public knowledge and the prejudices of many an employer subsequently prevented me from attaining jobs that my qualifications alone should have permitted me."

"So Madam Umbridge's legislation made your life difficult?"

"Undeniably."

"Thank you, Professor," said Thicknesse. "No further questions. Does the accused have anything to say in her defence?"

Umbridge tried to rise from the chair, but was by now shaking so much that she immediately collapsed back down.

"I would like to argue," she said, "that my legislation and creation of the Werewolf Registration Office was aimed at nothing more than giving employers and colleagues a full understanding of their employee's and colleague's condition and how it might affect them. Everything I did was in the interests of safety."

"This will be taken into consideration," said Thicknesse. "Although you cannot deny, Madam Umbridge, that you do have a history of specieist sentiment. You proposed legislation to have Merpeople rounded up and tagged in 1994, did you not? And you are also quoted as calling Centaurs 'filthy half breeds'. Your prejudice against half-giants, in particular Rubeus Hagrid, is also known to have affected your assessment of him while you served the Ministry in the now-redundant capacity of Hogwarts High Inquisitor in 1995 and 1996. Do you deny this?"

Umbridge opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again and shook her head. Harry could see tears forming in her eyes and falling onto her horrible pink cardigan. He felt no pity.

"We now move on to the second charge," Kingsley said after a few minutes of muttering among the members of the Wizangemot. "As witness I call Harry James Potter."

Harry swallowed nervously before making his way to the witness box. As he sat down he caught Kingsley's eye and smiled. Kingsley returned the look.

"You are Mr Harry James Potter?" Thicknesse asked him.

"I am," Harry replied simply.

"You were attacked, Mr Potter, in August of 1995 by a pair of Dementors, yes?"

"I was."

"Do you have evidence, Mr Potter, that Madam Umbridge ordered the attack?"

Harry nodded grimly.

"She confessed to me herself," he said, making many in the room gasp in shock.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Thicknesse said after a few minutes. "No further questions."

As Harry returned to his seat, Thicknesse addressed Umbridge again.

"Do you defend yourself against this charge?" he asked.

"Yes!" Umbridge said, quite defiant now. "Mister Potter is a liar!"

This elicited much angry muttering, and a few of the Wizengamot stood and rained insults down upon Umbridge. Harry was being ferociously defended by the men and women who had defended him in 1995 as well. Harry could see Tiberius Ogden among those stood, his face purple with rage as he shouted down at Umbridge.

"Silence!" called Kingsley, slamming his gavel down repeatedly. "Madam Umbridge, you are reminded that slander is a criminal offence. Can you prove that Mister Potter is lying?"

Umbridge seemed to deflate as she sat back down and withdrew once more.

"No, Minister," she admitted. "But I hasten to add that nor can he prove that he is telling the truth."

"It shall be put to the vote," Kingsley declared. "Those among the Wizengamot who believe that Mister Potter is trustworthy, please raise your hand."

Every hand in the room, apart from Umbridge's and Harry's rose. Umbridge turned scarlet while Harry smiled to himself.

"Mister Potter's word will be taken over that of Madam Umbridge," Kingsley declared. "Continue."

"Thank you, Minister," said Thicknesse, bowing. "We move now to the third charge. For this I call forth Misters Frederick and George Weasley."

Fred and George stood, smiled with mock friendliness at Umbridge – which drew a lugh from some of the Wizengamot – and sat in the witness box.

"We're Misters Fred and George Weasley," they said together before Thicknesse could say anything.

"Er… yes," said Thicknesse, evidently thrown. "And I take it you also own the shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" The twins nodded. "And you were both students at Hogwarts during Madam Umbridge's tenure as a Professor."

"Yes," they replied in unison.

"Can you describe for the Court," Thicknesse asked them, "what methods of punishment Madam Umbridge employed while a Professor?"

"Her favourite was the scarring quill," George said, holding up his hand for Thicknesse to see. "She made us write lines with it."

"That were then scarred onto our hands," Fred said in a deliberately dramatic and grisly tone. "We were forced to write with our own blood."

More angry muttering followed this statement, sounding to Harry like the buzzing of a hundred hornets. When they quieted down, Thicknesse once again turned towards Umbridge.

"Do you deny this?"

Umbridge shook her head, fresh tears falling from her eyes. How dare she, Harry thought. How dare she feel sorry for herself?

"Professor McGonagall," Kingsley said to the Transfiguration professor, "can you corroborate what these two gentlemen have told the Court?"

"I can," Professor McGonagall replied curtly. "Madam Umbridge used the most barbarous methods whilst teaching at Hogwarts. I was ashamed to count her among my colleagues."

Muttering once again filled the chamber, which Kingsley allowed to die down on its own before continuing.

"We move now to the fourth and fifth charges, Madam Umbridge, which will be tried concurrently as they are so closely linked. You were the Grand Inquisitor of the Muggle Born Registration Commission, were you not?"

"I was," Umbridge replied. "But I might say, Minister, that I was only following orders."

"Orders which, by all accounts, you were obeying willingly," said Pius Thicknesse. "Indeed, you gained from Lord Voldemort's rule, did you not?"

"As did you, Senior Undersecretary," Umbridge replied, pursing her lips. A resonant 'Ooh' came from the members of the Wizengamot as Thicknesse blushed. Harry had to admit that it was a good attack.

"My gain," he replied, keeping his composure, "was short-lived and not of my choosing. Yours however was actively sought after. Your actions," he continued, before Umbridge could speak, "led to the impoverishment, imprisonment, and in some cases the loss of the souls of innocent witches and wizards! You willingly, and without remorse, sent hundreds of Muggle-born citizens to the Azkaban, where you further allowed the Dementors to feast on their souls at will! What have you to say in answer to these charges?"

Thicknesse was in a real rage now, waving his arms around as he shouted at Umbridge, his face becoming red and contorted as he grew angrier and angrier in his tirade.

"I think," said Kingsley, calming Thicknesse down, "that we should call our witness."

"Quite, Minister," Thicknesse said, the blood draining from his face. "Forgive me. I call Mary Cattermole."

Mary Cattermole sat in the witness box, as so many people had before her, and answered Thicknesse's preliminary questions.

"Please describe to the Court," Thicknesse said, "the events of your hearing in front of Madam Umbridge, Mister Yaxley and Madam Hopkirk two years ago?"

Mary Cattermole proceeded to describe the event in detail, relating to the sickened members of the Wizengamot how Umbridge had used a Patronus – which required happiness – to keep the Dementors away from her and how Mary herself had only been saved by the timely intervention of Harry and Hermione.

When Mary had finished she resumed her seat on the Witness Bench and smiled at Harry. He smiled back as the Wizengamot debated among themselves. Kingsley banged his gavel down to call for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he said in a commanding tone, "you have heard the evidence brought before you by both the prosecution and the defence. It is now for you to decide on the guilt or innocence of Dolores Jane Umbridge. All those in favour of conviction, please raise your hands."

All of the Wizengamot raised their hands.

"The verdict is carried unanimously," said Dumbledore, speaking for the first time since the trial began. "Dolores Jane Umbridge, we hereby find you guilty of the charges listed above and sentence you to fifty years in Azkaban, ten for each charge."

Umbridge, no longer able to contain herself, fell to the floor and wept openly. Many in the seats looked away in disgust.

"Take her away," Kingsley said to the aurors standing at the side, who moved in, picked Umbridge up, and all but carried her out of the room.

"Well deserved?" Mr Weasley asked Harry.

"I think so," he replied, his face set.


	18. Wedding Day

_A/N: At long last, we're here. The big one. The wedding. You've waited for long enough, I shall keep you waiting no longer. _

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Wedding Day**

Harry awoke on the morning of the 4th of June and had to take a few moments to register that today, at last, he would be marrying Hermione. He rose sleepily from the camp bed he was occupying on Ron's bedroom floor and started to dress. From the main bed, Ron moaned as he opened his eyes and forced his body upright.

"Big day mate," he said groggily, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrified," Harry replied, with a huge smile on his face.

They dressed quickly, Harry thanking Merlin that Ron did not have a set of dress robes comparable with the ones he had worn to the Yule Ball in their Fourth Year. That disaster had looked more like a century-old dress, and Harry was willing to bet his broomstick that Ron was even more thankful than he was that the nightmare had not been repeated. Instead, both were wearing simple black, similar to what Muggles usually wore at such events but much longer. Harry had tucked his wand into an inside pocket. He wasn't taking it for granted that some insane ex-Death Eater wouldn't turn up and try to attack everyone, and he would not let anything happen to Hermione and their baby.

Ever.

"How are we getting there?" he asked Ron as they went downstairs to breakfast.

"Portkey," Ron replied simply, "so all of us can get there."

"Speaking of the portkey," said Fred coming out of his and George's room.

"When does it leave?" George finished. "We can't miss it."

"Ten fifteen I think," Harry replied. "What time is it now?"

Fred checked his watch.

"Eight. We'll be fine."

"I can tell there will be a _lot _of hanging around this morning," Ron moaned.

"Well you're the one who insisted on getting up early _and _getting dressed before breakfast," Harry said, making Ron look away awkwardly. Harry, Fred and George laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked John as he came out of his and Charlie's room.

"Nothing," Harry replied, smiling at him. "We're just making Ron feel like the idiot he is."

"Good," said Charlie as he too exited his room, wearing a t-shirt with a dragon on it and a very burned pair of jeans. Harry looked at his clothes, half-amused, half-alarmed. Charlie noted the look. "Don't worry mate," he said, "I'll change before we go. This is just for eating before I change."

"Come to that," said John, "why are you two all dressed up already?"

"Because _someone_," said Harry, giving Ron a very pointed look, "insisted on us waking early and dressing. And now he's complaining about all the waiting around he's going to have to do."

"Alright how long is this going to go on for?" asked Ron to the group at large.

"Until we get hungry enough to go for breakfast," said Fred just before his stomach let out a loud growl of hunger. "Saved by the bell," he said before walking downstairs. The others followed him.

After breakfast, Harry and Ron returned to their room and went over what they would both be saying in their speeches.

"That's good," Harry said when he had heard Ron's. "Just one thing; are you really going to tell people the story about the Horntail? I mean it's not very funny is it?"

"It's not meant to be," Ron said, as though this was obvious.

"Then why is it in that part of the speech?" Harry asked. "Either move it or get rid of it."

"Well let's look at yours," Ron said defensively. Harry handed over the piece of parchment on which his speech was written. Ron perused it in silence. "It's good," he said, handing it back to Harry, "although I'd suggest leaving out the bit about Ginny not being what you wanted. She is going to be there, after all."

"Good point," Harry said, taking a quill and scratching out the offending sentence. "Right, now all we have to do is memorise these."

They were still trying to memorise them when Bill came into the room at ten o'clock, wearing a set of grand dress robes, royal blue in colour and with a gold trim.

"We've got to go," he said, gesturing with his thumb out the door. "How are you feeling Harry?"

"More nervous than I've ever felt before," Harry replied, grinning all the same.

"But it's a good kind of nervousness, yeah?" asked Bill, smiling knowingly. Harry nodded. "I know exactly what you mean," Bill said. "I was the same that morning I married Fleur."

"I hope this one goes better than yours though," Ron said. "Fewer Death Eaters would be nice."

"No arguments there," said Bill, smiling at his youngest brother. "Now come on, the others are waiting."

The three men made their way downstairs, where they found Fred, George, Charlie, John, Percy and Mr Weasley waiting for them, each of them wearing dress robes of the finest quality. It seemed that the Weasleys' economic standing had improved in the year since Voldemort's defeat.

"Come on you two," Mr Weasley said as they entered the kitchen, "the portkey won't wait."

The Weasley men, Harry and John made their way out of the house, all of them following Mr Weasley. After fifteen minutes of walking they came across a tattered old Stetson hat.

"This is it," said Mr Weasley, unable to contain his excitement any longer. "Everyone gather round. We've got a few minutes yet."

The nine of them stood there, none of them saying much. Harry felt as though a thousand pixies were flitting around in his stomach and was suddenly aware that he was breathing unusually deeply with each inhalation. After the longest five minutes of Harry's life, Mr Weasley declared that it was time, and each of them placed a hand on the Stetson. Seconds later Harry felt the hook behind his navel and was pulled off his feet into the air, spinning and spinning until, just as suddenly as the portkey had departed, it slammed them back down to earth. Harry looked up at the venue that he and Hermione had arranged for their wedding.

The pavilion was a gargantuan structure, easily larger than even the multi-storied Burrow. Its golden sides reflected dazzlingly in the morning sunlight, sending spots of light out in all directions. Inside was even more impressive. A portrait of Harry and Hermione together was hung on one of the walls, with fairies in their hundreds being used as lights on the sides and ceiling. Stood to attention were five-dozen House Elves, who would wait until the ceremony itself was over before springing into action and attending to the needs of the wedding guests. The same golden-jacketed band that Bill and Fleur had hired was readying their instruments and one of them caught Harry's eye and smiled at him. It was a friendly smile, and Harry took it as a wish of luck.

Harry was admiring all of this when a middle-aged wizard wearing white and purple robes called to him.

"Mr Potter?" Harry turned and nodded as the wizard approached him, hand outstretched and a smile on his face. "Barnaby Winkman," the wizard introduced himself. "I'll be yours and Miss Granger's bonder."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said, trying to sound friendly.

"Nervous?" Winkman asked him. Harry could only nod in response. He had the feeling that if he admitted it to himself at this stage he might start rambling about it and never stop. "You'll be absolutely fine," Winkman assured him. "If you can save the world, you can marry the woman of your dreams."

This did galvanise Harry somewhat, and he thanked Winkman as the wizard walked off to talk to Dumbledore, who had just arrived and was wearing dress robes of silver.

The minutes passed as though each one was an hour. Guests arrived, wished Harry luck, and sat down. Harry even failed to hear much of what Sirius said to him, so lost was he in his own thoughts and so disconnected was he from the real world. Eventually, he found himself following Ron to the front of the rows of chairs that had been conjured in front of a specially constructed podium, on which Barnaby Winkman was stood. He looked at Harry and smiled encouragingly again. Harry could only grimace in response as he stared determinedly forward, waiting for Ron to tell him to turn round. Dean and Seamus, his groomsmen, both patted him on the back and wished him luck.

Harry heard the intakes of breath when Hermione arrived and his mind instantly thought of a hundred different dresses she could be wearing.

"Turn round," Ron whispered in his ear. Harry obeyed and found that his jaw almost hit the ground.

Hermione was wearing a beautiful white dress that seemed to float around her, almost as if she was submerged in water. She was wearing the same tiara that Fleur had worn at her wedding, Aunt Muriel having agreed to give it to her once again in return for an invitation to the wedding. Harry looked at her now, sat five rows back from him, telling anyone who would listen that the tiara Hermione was wearing belonged to her.

Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione, who smiled at him as she walked silently towards him, followed by Ginny, her maid of honour, as well as Luna and Parvati Patil, her bridesmaids, who were all wearing sky blue dresses and wide smiles.

Hermione stopped when she drew level with Harry.

"You look…" Harry breathed, finding himself lost for words. Hermione just smiled at him again and turned towards Barnaby Winkman, who was preparing to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, smiling at the guests, "we are gathered today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls." Harry and Hermione, almost subconsciously, joined hands and smiled at each other. "Do you, Harry James, take Hermione Jean in wedlock?"

"I do," Harry answered, feeling the cliché roll off his tongue. This was proving to be far easier than he thought it would be.

"And do you, Hermione Jean, take Harry James in wedlock?"

"I do."

"Then, with the exchanging of rings, I declare you bonded for life," Winkman declared, raising his wand high above their heads. A shower of stars erupted over them, cascading back down on top of both them and the guests.

"Kiss!" someone in the seats shouted. Harry looked up and saw Fred grinning at him.

"Kiss!" echoed George. Soon, a large number of the guests were all joining in the cry. Harry and Hermione, never ones to hide their emotions, threw themselves into each other's arms and kissed more passionately than they had ever done before in public. When they pulled apart Hermione was crying with happiness.

"I love you," she said, quietly enough so that only Harry could hear her.

"I love you too Mione," Harry replied, smiling more widely than he had ever smiled before. They linked arms and walked together between the seats, people applauding them the whole way. Behind them, Ron linked arms with Luna, while Dean paired with Ginny and Seamus with Parvati, and all of them followed Harry and Hermione towards the pavilion, followed by the rest of the guests.

Harry held open the pavilion's flap for Hermione.

"My lady," he said, executing a mock bow.

"And they said chivalry was dead," Hermione laughed. "Come on, husband," she said, emphasising the final word as she took his hand once again, "let's celebrate."

Immediately one of the House Elves came up to them.

"Is Master Harry enjoying his wedding day?" Kreacher asked, with what might just have been a smile on his old and wizened face.

"I am, thank you Kreacher," Harry replied, smiling down at the Elf. "Are you in charge of these Elves?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher replied. "Kreacher will make sure that they make Master Harry and Mistress Hermione's day a success."

"Thank you Kreacher," said Hermione. Kreacher bowed. Evidently his misgivings about Hermione's blood status were nothing compared to his devotion to the Potter family.

Once everyone was gathered inside the pavilion, which, Harry noted, was bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, he stood in the centre of the dance floor with Hermione to make his speech.

"Firstly," he said, smiling around at everyone, "I'd like to thank you all for coming and celebrating this day with Hermione and I." Everyone applauded. "I first met Hermione," Harry continued, "when we were eleven. Little did I know where saving her from a mountain troll would lead." This drew laughs from many of the guests. "Our friendship had its ups and downs," Harry continued, "mainly ups, thank God. Hermione was my best friend even before we started going out and I absolutely adore her and always have." A few of the women were tearing up now. Fred and George, by contrast, were miming being sick and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Instead, he turned to face Hermione even as he addressed the guests. "Will everyone please join me in cheering my best friend, my love and my wife, Hermione _Potter_."

There was thunderous applause as Harry concluded. Hermione was going slightly scarlet but looked happy nonetheless. When the guests had quieted, she began her own speech.

"Harry you've always been there for me," she said with utter sincerity. "Apart from one fight in Third Year we've never seriously fallen out. I've heard it said that real love needs fights but I don't believe that for one second. You are everything I love. You're brave, you're clever, and you're a noble, self-sacrificing idiot." Their friends from Hogwarts all laughed at this, as did a few of the Order members who'd been invited. "You're the best person I've ever met and you've been there for me through everything," Hermione said. "I love you, and I'm so incredibly happy that I'm now your wife."

There was a great 'Awww' from the women, and a few of the men, as Hermione finished and she and Harry kissed again.

"Now," Harry declared, smiling at everyone, "let's have a party!"

The golden-jacketed band immediately began playing. It was an upbeat, jazzy tune and Harry and Hermione, per wedding tradition, got the first dance. Hermione found herself amazed at how well Harry danced.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Harry said, grinning at her, "I've been taking dancing lessons for the last two months."

"You can tell," Hermione said, smiling as Harry spun her effortlessly before bending her over backwards and lifting her up in quick succession.

Gradually, other people joined them on the dance floor, first Ron and Luna, followed by Dean and Ginny. Soon the dance floor was covered with people dancing, though some of the guests, like Madeye Moody, were sat at tables, drinking, eating, talking and laughing.

When the first song finished Harry let go of Hermione.

"Drink, Mrs Potter?" he asked.

"Just water," she replied, her hand on her stomach.

"We'll tell everyone soon," Harry promised, "after the honeymoon. Today will just be for us."

He walked over to Kreacher, fetched their drinks, and brought them back to Hermione.

"Come on, let's sit down," Hermione said. They sat at the top table, clinked their glasses together, and drank.

"I love you Mione," Harry said in the tone he reserved for when he was being serious and romantic.

"I love you too Harry," Hermione replied, kissing him.

At that moment Harry became aware of someone coming up to the table to talk to him.

"Hey," said Dudley, wearing a Muggle suit and waistcoat.

"Hi," Harry greeted him. "Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, well, mum was coming so I thought I would too."

"Cheers." There was an awkward silence before Harry could think of something else to say. "Your dad here?"

"No."

"Doesn't surprise me."

Dudley laughed.

"Anyway, enjoy your day Harry," he said, smiling and shaking his cousin's hand. "You too Hermione."

And he walked off.

"Christmas card terms," Harry said absent-mindedly.

"What?" Hermione asked, confused.

"I think we'll just be on Christmas card terms," Harry explained. "We won't be close, but we'll send cards to each other and visit occasionally."

"What will you be with Draco?" Hermione asked.

"Nodding terms," Harry laughed.

At midday, the lead singer of the band stood in the centre of the dance floor and declared that dinner was served. People found tables and looked around, bemusedly. Harry couldn't help but join them; all the House Elves had disappeared and there were no waiters. Just as people were beginning to wonder aloud what was going on, menus appeared on each table simultaneously. Harry, who now had a hunch about how this process worked, said very clearly 'Chicken steak'. Instantly a plate of chicken appeared before him. The other guests, some of whom had also recognised the technique when the menus had appeared, now began ordering their food and soon the pavilion was filled with the sound of clinking cutlery and merry conversation. When everyone had eaten, Ron stood up next to Harry.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I am the best man and I… Well to be honest I knocked this speech up in fifteen minutes last night." Everyone laughed at this. Harry thought he could see Ron's confidence grow. "No, but seriously," he said, "I'm in real awe of what Harry and Hermione have done today. I hope," and here he looked lovingly at Luna, "to do the same one day, but for now, I'll let them have their day." He let the sincerity of his words sink in. "Now who wants to hear a story about Harry and a Hungarian Horntail?" Harry, for comic effect, banged his head on the table.


	19. The City of Light

_A/N: Forgive me for two things. Firstly, how long it has taken to get this chapter up. I have been struck by writers' block for ages, I'm going through a really tough time and I'm moving to my university soon so my life's all over the place. Secondly, the French in this chapter may not be completely accurate. Having no skill with the language whatsoever myself I turned to Google Translate. I beg the forgiveness of any native speakers of French for any poor translations._

_By the way, Hermione's fluency with French is a reference to Emma Watson also being fluent in the language._

**Chapter Nineteen**

**The City of Light**

Harry woke the morning after the wedding with an enormous smile on his face. Not only had the day been the best of his life, but so had the night. It seemed that Hermione had been saving her best moves for the wedding night. He looked over to her side of the bed to see that she wasn't there. Looking up, still slightly bleary-eyed, he saw Hermione packing her suitcase in a decidedly angry manner.

"What's got into you?" Harry asked her.

"Fleur," Hermione replied bluntly. Harry decided it would be best if he got out of bed. Summoning his boxer shorts and jeans to him from out of his wardrobe he pulled them on before walking over to his wife.

"Why, what's Fleur done?" Harry asked as he wrapped his arms around Hermione's waists.

"Apparently," Hermione said, in a tone that let Harry know he was in for a rant, "she told everyone at the wedding that she's pregnant."

Harry still had no idea why this would upset Hermione the amount that it had.

"And you wish she remained childless?" he ventured. Hermione turned on him, glaring. Harry backed away quickly and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay," he said, quickly. "Not a subject to joke about. Alright. But I don't see why it's upset you this much, Mione."

"It's upset me," Hermione said, turning back to the suitcase, "because now that's what people will remember yesterday for. Our wedding," she emphasised those two words, "will just be a side note."

She sounded incredibly angry and bitter and Harry couldn't help but think that maybe Hermione wasn't being her usual logical self about this. Tentatively, he decided to voice his opinions.

"Mione," he said in what he hoped was a calming and caring tone, "people will remember the wedding above Fleur's news."

"How do you know?" Hermione asked.

"Because we'll make sure," Harry replied. Hermione looked as though she wanted to speak but instead she just shut the suitcase and stood next to it, perfectly stationary. "And anyway," Harry continued, "you'll get to tell everyone that you're pregnant when we get back. Then it'll be you everyone's fussing over."

Hermione seemed to reluctantly agree with him. Harry could feel all the tension leave her body as her expression changed to one of resignation.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she said. "But even so," she started again, her tone of anger returning, "she shouldn't have told everyone at our wedding."

"No, she shouldn't," Harry agreed with her, "but it's done now and she'll only get a fortnight of people fussing over her before they're fussing over you." Hermione turned in his arms and put her hands on his face. "And who could know," Harry continued, smiling at his wife now, "that you're two months gone? I mean, you're not showing, you're not throwing up. If you hadn't told me I'd have no idea."

Hermione smiled at him.

"Okay," she conceded, "maybe I shouldn't be so upset with Fleur."

"Let her have these two weeks," Harry said, "and then you get to be the centre of attention again."

This seemed to cheer Hermione up considerably. "Women," Harry thought, "always trying to get one up on each other. It's amazing they have any friends at all."

They finally finished packing and went downstairs to find Sirius waiting for them in the kitchen.

"I'm going to miss you two," Sirius said, and Harry noted that he did look genuinely sad. "And I don't just mean while you're away."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Harry asked his godfather.

"I mean when you two move out," Sirius replied. "Oh don't look like that," he said upon seeing the guilty of looks on their faces. "We all knew that this was going to happen and I've made my peace with it. I'm not angry with you two, in fact I think you really need to do it. I'll just miss you, that's all."

"We'll try and find a house close by," Harry promised. "And we'll see you as often as possible."

"Harry you don't have to constrain yourself for my sake," Sirius said. "You live wherever you want."

There was a profound silence, broken only by Hermione's sniffing. Harry wasn't looking at her, but he knew that she was fighting back tears. Eventually, Sirius smiled – a very forced smile – and spread his arms wide, embracing Harry.

"Go and have a fantastic honeymoon," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Both of you."

"We will," Harry and Hermione said together. Sirius let Harry go before giving Hermione a swift kiss on the cheek which she returned.

"We'll write to you every day if you want," she said. "We'll give you all the news."

"Oh you don't have to," Sirius said, still wearing the forced smile, though Harry could see that it was beginning to waver. Deciding to give his godfather the dignity of breaking down in private, Harry grabbed hold of Hermione's hand.

"See you in two weeks then," he said. Sirius by now was definitely about to burst into tears, and he could only wave them off as they walked out of the front door, apparating away when they reached the treeline. Sirius looked at the point where they had disappeared for a few moments before going back into the house, closing the door, and letting a single tear roll down his face.

Harry and Hermione landed on a deserted stretch of coastline. It was an unseasonably cold day and the wind of an incoming squall whipped around the beach, stirring up great clouds of sand. Hermione instantly cast a protective charm around themselves, shielding them from the worst of a particularly large blast of sand and sea spray. Then she lowered the charm and, almost immediately, they apparated once again.

This time, they were taken to a deserted alleyway. Graffiti was daubed across a brick wall while litter was strewn across the ground, despite the presence of a bin nearby.

"Are we here?" Harry asked.

"Yep," Hermione replied. "Welcome to Paris, Mr Potter."

They exited the alley and walked up a street, making their way through the crowds of people. Harry was amazed by the city. He had heard so much about it but he had never imagined that it would ever live up to the stories. But here it was, every bit as splendid as he had heard.

They did not stop walking until they reached their hotel. Entering, they strode towards the reception desk, Hermione in front.

"Bonjour," she began in what Harry thought was a friendly tone, and – he noticed – in a flawless accent. "Nous avons réservé chambre sous le nom de Harry Potter." By now Harry was lost completely.

The receptionist tapped at her computer keyboards lazily. They had decided to stay in a Muggle hotel and this, Harry thought, was the price of that decision. After a moment the receptionist addressed Hermione again while Harry stood slightly away, hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with himself.

"Votre chambre est la suite lune de miel," the receptionist said, handing a keycard over to Hermione. "Sous le toit. Profitez de votre séjour."

"Merci beaucoup," Hermione said. She gestured for Harry to follow her and they walked into the lift.

"You're going to be doing all the talking while we're here," Harry said as Hermione pressed the button for their floor. "I haven't a clue what either of you said back there."

Hermione laughed.

"Honestly Harry, would it kill you to learn a bit of French?" she said, smiling at him widely.

"Apparently I don't have to," Harry replied. "Since when were you fluent?"

"I taught myself the basics in primary school," Hermione replied, "and just sort of kept going. Came in really handy when I went to Dijon the summer before Third Year."

"I'll bet," Harry replied, impressed. He looked into Hermione's eyes for a long moment. "You really are brilliant Hermione," he said, smiling at her.

"Just got a gift with languages," Hermione said. "I'll be fluent in Italian before you know it."

They laughed and were still laughing when the lift doors opened a few seconds later. It was wonderful to have this time to themselves, a newly married couple. Mister and Mrs Harry Potter. Harry just felt sorry for Hermione not being able to taste the French wines.

"In a choice between having a healthy and happy baby and tasting a few wines," she had said to him one night shortly before the wedding when Harry had voiced his sympathies, "I'd choose the healthy baby every time."

They exited the lift and walked along a short corridor to a door with a bronze plaque on it. The plague read 'Suite lune de miel'.

"This is us," Hermione said, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. She put the keycard into the machine on the side of the wall and a green light appeared. Harry pushed the door open for her into the dark room, eager to see what one of the finest hotels in Paris gave their honeymooning guests.

"Oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed as she flicked the lights on. Harry's jaw almost hit the floor. The room was not so much a bedroom as it was a luxury flat, complete with kitchen, Jacuzzi in the bathroom and a bed the size of which put even the Hogwarts four-poster beds to shame.

"We certainly got our money's worth," Harry said as he gazed around the room. Merlin, there was even a stereo sound system and an assurance from the hotel, written in French, English and German, that the room was perfectly sound proof and no one outside it would be able to hear the music it played.

"I love it!" Hermione shouted as she lay back on the bed, head resting against the enormous pillows.

"Anything for my gorgeous wife," Harry said, smiling at her as he sat on the bed next to her. "I love you Mione."

"I love you too Harry."

They kissed, and found that it kept going. Harry moved his whole body on top of Hermione and ran his hand up her thigh. Suddenly Hermione pulled away, leaving Harry looking very disappointed.

"Later," she promised, giggling at his expression. "Right now we've got to unpack." She began to walk over to one of the suitcases and whip back the zip seal but Harry stopped her.

"Hermione, are you a witch or not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Good point," she said. "Just got to check for security cameras." After a thorough check of every room, Hermione drew out her wand. She flicked it twice in the direction of their bags and they proceeded to unpack themselves, the clothes unfolding and placing themselves in the large wardrobe near the door while their toiletries flew into the bathroom and placed themselves neatly in their correct places.

"I've only ever seen Molly do anything like that," Harry said as Hermione turned to face him, a satisfied grin on her face. "Like I said, you're brilliant."

"And you're utterly lovely," Hermione replied, blowing him a kiss. "Right, I want to see the sights, Mister Potter. Will you take me to the Louvre?"

"I certainly will, Mrs Potter," Harry replied, taking her by the hand and walking out of the door.

**One week later**

Harry sat back in the chair he was occupying outside the Cafés Verlet utterly content with life. He had a cup of excellent Parisian coffee on the table in front of him, the sun was shining down on the city in the early afternoon and he was sat opposite his wife, the most wonderful woman in the world and his forever. He looked over at her, and was not entirely surprised to see that Hermione's head was buried in a book. It was Harry's copy of _The Animagus Plight_. He could tell just from looking over that she was far more engrossed in it than he ever would be.

"I've been thinking," he said as he picked up his coffee cup.

"Uh-oh," Hermione teased. "You don't want to do too much of that." Harry raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled innocently at him.

"As I was saying," Harry said, grinning at Hermione to let her know she wasn't in any trouble, "I've been thinking and I think we should buy that house in Apelby."

"Apelby?" Hermione repeated. "You mean that village near Sirius's house?"

"The same," Harry confirmed. "I just think it'll make it easier for all of us, especially him. You know how he loves to have a house full of people and I think he's going to take us moving out really badly, even if he doesn't show it."

"You're probably right," Hermione agreed. "And it is a lovely house, it's not as if we're buying it just to be close to him."

"Exactly," Harry said. "But I won't do anything until you say we should or shouldn't buy it."

Hermione paused for a moment.

"Can I sleep on it?" she asked.

"Of course you can," Harry replied. "Take as long as you like."

Hermione thanked him silently before returning to her book. Harry returned to his coffee and people watching. He had discovered that he enjoyed people watching from the outdoor seating areas of Parisian cafés, and he thought it would perhaps be good training for when he was a fully-fledged auror. Doubtless he would have to be able to read a person on sight.

"I love you," came Hermione's voice from across the table. Harry turned, startled that she'd actually put her book down.

"I love you too," he said, all his attention on her now.

"I've been thinking," Hermione began.

"No surprises there," Harry joked, earning an amused rolling of eyes from Hermione.

"I've been thinking that if our baby's a girl, I want to name her Lily," Hermione said. "I want you to know at least one Lily Potter."

"Hermione…" Harry began, deeply touched by her words, "that's so…"

"You don't have to say anything," Hermione said, grasping his hand which had been resting on the table. "I know what you're thinking and how your feeling."

"Using legilimency on me?" Harry joked.

"No, I just know you extremely well," Hermione replied, smiling. "I can always tell what's going through your mind, Harry Potter."

"What am I thinking right now?" Harry asked, turning towards her and staring her straight in the eyes. Hermione returned the stare. Harry could tell she was thinking hard, making any number of deductions, calculations and second-guesses.

"I think," Hermione said, slowly and deliberately after a few seconds, "that you want to take me out dancing later."

"Nope," Harry replied simply, "though don't worry, hint received and understood. I was in fact playing the Hogwarts school song in my head."

Hermione laughed.

"Are you alright after this morning?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in a concerned frown. That morning had seen Hermione's first bout of morning sickness, and she had felt slightly off colour for hours afterwards, only agreeing to eat something at lunch.

"I'm fine," Hermione assured him. "It's just something that happens. "And you were brilliant, holding my hair back for me. Thank you."

"Whatever you need darling," Harry promised her, giving her hand a gentle but firm squeeze before leaning across the table and kissing her.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter.

"Voulez-vous la facture?" he asked.

"Oui, merci," Hermione answered without hesitation.

"I still can't quite believe you're fluent in French," Harry said. "Anymore talents you're keeping from me?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly unsure.

"Well, first the piano and now this," Harry said. "I'm not angry or anything like that," he added quickly, "I just don't think you give yourself enough credit. Come on, what's Hermione Potter good at?"

Hermione blushed slightly but Harry could tell she was flattered and pleased that he was singing her praises.

"I'm not a bad writer," she said after a moment. "I used to write short stories when I was in primary school and I refined my technique. I'm reading this," she held up _The Animagus Plight_, "because it's extraordinarily well written as well as being a damn good read. I'm hoping to pick up tips."

"Do I see a novel penned by Hermione Potter on the horizon?" Harry asked before taking another sip of coffee.

"Maybe one day," Hermione said. "But not right now. I'm not even twenty yet, after all, and I've still got this little one to have yet." She placed a hand on her stomach.

"You'll be a fantastic mum," Harry said sincerely. "Even if you did have terrible examples of parents."

"And you'll be a fantastic dad," Hermione replied, just as sincerely. "And they were never that bad when I was growing up. They were perfectly normal. It was just when I went to Hogwarts and we saw less and less of each other and we just drifted further and further apart until eventually, it would appear, we didn't know each other anymore." There was a moment of silence before Hermione spoke again. "But hey, I'll always have the memory."

"Putting on a brave face," Harry said. "Another thing you're good at." He smiled at her. "Though you can let down the façade around me, you know."

"I know," Hermione said. "And hey, my mum's back in my good books now, so it's really just my dad I shouldn't imitate."

"No arguments there," agreed Harry, as the waiter returned with the bill in hand.

**One week later**

Harry was awakened by the sound of vomit hitting the water at the bottom of the toilet bowl, just as he had been every morning for the last week. Forgetting that it was five in the morning and that he was tired, he leapt out of bed and all but ran to the bathroom, where he found Hermione hunched over the lavatory, her shoulders heaving as she expelled sick.

Harry, knowing the routine, knelt by Hermione's side, grasped her hair in his hand and held it back while Hermione lurched and shuddered.

After a few minutes, though to both Harry and Hermione it felt like much longer, Hermione stood up and Harry released her hair.

"I've got to brush my teeth," Hermione said, staggering over to the sink and picking up her toothbrush.

"I'm going to get dressed," Harry said, walking out of the bathroom.

"Thanks for how brilliant you've been about all this Harry," Hermione called to him.

"Would I have ever done anything else?" he called back as he pulled off his pyjama top. "Anything you need, darling. Anything."

He continued dressing as Hermione came out of the bathroom, face washed and teeth cleaned. She walked up behind Harry, who was wearing nothing but his jeans, and wrapped her arms around his stomach, kissing his neck at the same time.

"I love you so, so much," she said after planting a second kiss on his shoulder. "I still can't believe I'm married to you sometimes."

"It has only been two weeks," Harry said, taking hold of one of her hands. "And you've still got everyone calling you 'Mrs Potter' to come yet." He turned round in Hermione's arms and placed a hand on her cheek. "You'll get used to it," he assured her. "I have."

She kissed his chest, making the hairs on Harry's neck prickle. She gradually made her way up to his neck, where he intercepted her with a passionate kiss. Their tongues darted around in each other's mouths as they collapsed onto the bed.

It was late evening when Sirius finally mustered the energy to make himself his afternoon meal. He had just been through an exhausting day of countless interviews and press conferences promoting his autobiography, which was being re-published in a limited edition. Quite what was limited about the edition Sirius had no idea, nor did he care to find out. He had written about his experiences and submitted a few dozen photographs for use on various pages. His part was done.

Sirius sat at the table and began to eat. As he was chewing a piece of pork there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," he called. The door opened and Sirius turned. He instantly got to his feet and walked, arms outstretched, towards his godson, who embraced him. "Enjoy the honeymoon?" he asked the two of them as he hugged Hermione.

"Yeah thanks," Harry replied. "We've actually got something we need to tell you all but we'll wait until tomorrow."

"Good plan," Sirius said, surprising Harry by not asking what it was that they needed to talk about. "Do you want dinner or have you eaten?"

"We ate earlier," Harry said as he enchanted the suitcases to fly upstairs. "We've been an hour ahead of you for the last two weeks."

"Oh, of course," Sirius said. "Forgot about the time difference."

"So did we at first," said Harry. Hermione issued a pointed cough. "Alright," Harry relented, "_I _forgot about the time difference. She was up an hour before me the first day. I woke up to find her fully dressed and rather impatient to go to breakfast."

"Well if we'd been half an hour later than we were we'd have missed it," Hermione said. "And I know how long you can take in the bathroom."

"Isn't it usually women that take too long?" Sirius asked.

"Apparently not in this marriage," Harry joked. Sirius was silent. "What is it?" Harry asked when he noticed that his godfather was staring at him.

"I can't believe you're married," Sirius said in a quiet voice. "It's just… wow."

"My parents can't have been too far off our age when they got married," Harry said.

"No, you're right there," Sirius said. "They were both nineteen. It was 1979. What a year," he finished, looking wistfully at a photograph that hung on the opposite wall. It was, like most wizarding pictures, moving and depicted Harry's parents as newlyweds, happy and smiling and laughing. Harry gazed wistfully too, and Hermione quietly exited from the room. Harry would thank her for that later. He needed this moment just to look at his parents, alone with his godfather, and revel in how happy they were with him.


	20. Armitage Wenlock

_A/N: The next few chapters will be more action-oriented than romance-oriented. I thought it was about time that we saw some duelling. There will still be romance, of course, but it will take second priority for the next couple of chapters. Hope you enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty**

**Armitage Wenlock**

The news that Hermione was pregnant was delivered the day after hers and Harry's return from France. Hermione had sent everyone a message, either by patronus or by sending Hedwig with a letter, to come to Sirius's house at five that afternoon for some 'big news'. Intrigued, everyone had of course turned up. All the Weasleys had turned up, also bringing with them Luna, John and Dean. Harry also discovered that both of the twins now also had girlfriends; Fred was with Angelina while George was seeing Alicia Spinnet. For both of these couples a 'will they, won't they' situation had existed for some time, but now it was official. Percy, too, was one half of a couple, having got back together with his Hogwarts girlfriend Penelope Clearwater. All of these women accompanied the Weasleys when they arrived at Sirius' house, as did Katie Bell with whom Harry was still friendly. Neville and Seamus were also invited, as was Hermione's mother. As well as this close knit group of friends, many of the Hogwarts staff eagerly waited to hear of the news via owl and Harry had promised Lupin, and by extension the rest of the staff, that he would send Hedwig with a letter as soon as everybody else had been told.

Expectations were running high when everybody gathered together in Sirius's living room, all eyes fixed on Harry and Hermione who were stood in front of everyone with their arms wrapped around each other. As Fleur walked in everybody turned for a moment and instantly started cooing over her, asking how she was and how the pregnancy was going. Harry glanced at Hermione and saw that her face was set. She wasn't scowling or glaring, but nor was she smiling and cooing like everybody else. It seemed that even two weeks in Paris had not been enough to blunt her steel.

When Fleur had dragged out the attention for as long as she decently could she sat down and turned towards Harry and Hermione, and everyone else followed suit. There was a moment of silence, finally broken by Ron.

"Come on, what's this news then?"

Harry inhaled deeply.

"There's no point in mixing words," he said, "so we've decided we'll just come out and say it."

"I'm pregnant," Hermione said, a huge smile on her face. Instantly the entire room gave her the same treatment that it had given Fleur only moments before. Even Fleur participated, and Harry believed it to be genuine excitement on the part of the French witch.

"How far gone are you?" Ginny asked.

"A couple of months," Hermione replied, resting a hand on her stomach even though she still wasn't showing. "And yes I've started throwing up."

"You poor thing," Molly had said. "I will never forget how horrible morning sickness is. How long have you had it for?"

"A week or so," Hermione replied.

"Five weeks to go zen," Fleur said. "I've still not had my first one yet."

"How far gone are you?" Harry asked, realising he had no idea.

"Three weeks," Fleur said in answer, "perhaps four. I'm due in February."

As Hermione and Fleur chatted animatedly about pregnancy, and everyone else was caught up in conversation, Harry's thoughts turned to the future. Before long he would be a father and he now realised that he had no idea how to be one. Fear gripped him for the first time since his last showdown with Voldemort, filling him with a cold sickness that he recognised as dread. Harry knew that this was a common reaction among prospective fathers, but that did not make it any less unpleasant. Lupin had felt the same way, he remembered. The man had come to them at Grimmauld Place two years before and announced his intention to go on the run, all because he was afraid of fatherhood. Harry had no such inclinations himself but he understood the fear now and felt that he had had no right to judge Lupin as hard as he had done at the time.

Harry suddenly realised that the rest of the room appeared to have gone silent. Mouths were moving as they had done before but Harry could not register their voices.

"I'm going to send that letter," he muttered to Hermione, and found that he could not even really hear his own voice. Hermione's mouth moved in the shape of an 'okay' but the sound never reached Harry's ears. Feeling as though he was floating along he climbed the stairs to the room that he and Hermione would, for just one more month, be staying in before they moved into the house they were confident of buying in Apelby. Harry had tens of millions, even in Muggle currency, and the house was worth far less than even a quarter of a million. If he had to, he would pay five times the asking price.

He entered the bedroom and gradually his senses returned to him. Hedwig's greeting hoot was muffled but audible, and slowly the voices from downstairs grew louder until they were at normal volume again. Giving Hedwig a forced smile, Harry moved over to the desk that was usually used solely by Hermione, pulled a piece of parchment towards him, dipped his quill in the inkwell that Hermione always kept full, and began to write.

_Dear Professors_

_Hermione and I are delighted to be able to tell you that Hermione is two months pregnant. The baby is due in January and we would be very happy to keep you updated on news of Hermione's pregnancy. I'm sure that many of you are excited at this news and we would be very happy to get a reply from you soon. _

_See you all soon,_

_Harry_

Harry sealed the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg.

"Just fly to Hogwarts," Harry told her. "Go for Dumbledore's office."

Hedwig hooted in understanding and took off out of the window. Harry watched her go until she became nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Or at least he would have done, had he not caught sight of another owl flying straight towards him.

Baffled, Harry waited by the window for the owl to reach him. As it came closer he noted that it was travelling faster than any owl he had ever seen before. Even Hedwig would be unable to match its speed, and she was far and away above average. The owl was as black as a raven, but far larger, and possessed of eyes as red as Voldemort's had been. All in all it was a rather terrifying bird.

The owl landed on the windowsill and stretched out its leg. Harry took the letter and saw that it bore the seal of the Auror Office, of which he and Ron were now the most junior members. Unfurling the scroll as the owl flapped away with a screech, Harry wondered what on Earth the Office could be writing to him about.

_Mr Potter,_

_Briefing in the Auror Office, nine o'clock Monday morning. HIGHLY IMPORTANT!_

_Armitage Wenlock, Acting Head of the Auror Office_

Harry rolled up the letter and placed it on the desk. He would deal with that later. Right now, from the sounds of it, a party was beginning downstairs. He ought to join it.

When Monday morning dawned, Harry hauled himself out of bed reluctantly. He would have preferred to just lie next to his wife for a little while longer but knew that an order from Armitage Wenlock was not to be refused. Wenlock had been a hero of both wars, and it had only made sense that he be appointed to be the Head of the Auror Office, even it was only on a temporary basis.

Harry picked his wand up off his bedside table and pointed it at his wardrobe. His black robes, the uniform of the Auror Office, flew towards him and rested themselves on the bed. Dressing quietly, Harry wondered what Wenlock could want with him. As he pulled on his cloak, he bent down over Hermione and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. She moaned in protest in her sleep, and Harry smiled down at her lovingly. It was at moments like this that he truly appreciated how lucky he was.

Going downstairs to the living room, he stood in front of the fireplace and reached into the small pot of Floo Powder that Sirius kept on the mantelpiece. Seizing a handful of the powder he threw it into the grate, where an emerald green fire immediately ignited. Stepping inside, and feeling the pleasant warmth around him, Harry said, "Ministry of Magic," before experiencing what felt like falling down a long slide, countless other fireplaces flashing by him. Sometimes Harry caught glimpses of the goings on in the rooms that housed the fireplaces before he was pulled ever further on.

Eventually he arrived in the Ministry's atrium, by now so familiar to him that he found that it no longer inspired his awe. He walked, not looking left or right, towards the lifts. Squeezing in next to a tall, mournful-looking man whose cloaks denoted his employment in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hermione would probably know him, whoever he was, but Harry did not recognise him.

Just as Harry had pressed the button for his floor and the lift doors had begun to slide shut, a voice carried to Harry from across the packed atrium.

"Hold the door for us, Harry!"

Harry looked up and saw that Ron was sprinting towards him. Harry obliged him, pressing the button cancelling the lift orders. The doors opened wide again and Ron darted inside, shooting an apologetic look at the tall man who had given him an exasperated glare.

"Cheers," he said as he regained himself. Harry noticed that he was wearing his Auror robes. Harry noted that black was not Ron's colour. "What do you reckon Wenlock wants with us?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry replied, shrugging, "but it's got to be important, right? I mean Wenlock wouldn't have summoned us for a briefing if there wasn't something important."

"True," Ron said.

They stood in silence until the lift juddered to the tall man's floor. Without so much as a look back at them, he walked out and strode straight towards his office while the lift doors once again slid shut and carried on upwards towards the floor where the Auror Office was located.

Harry and Ron stood in silence as the lift moved, both of them wondering what Armitage Wenlock would possibly want to talk to them about.

When the lift juddered to a halt they walked out and headed straight for the door of the Auror Office. It was being held open by a man Harry recognised as Dawlish. Apparently he had now been reduced to the Office's doorman. He had never struck Harry as a particularly capable Auror, so perhaps it was for the best.

They walked into the office and found Armitage Wenlock sat at his desk waiting for them. He was a tough-looking man, with a thick muscular neck, a hard face with dark eyes and a few scars. His hair was cut short, in much the same style as Harry's, and he was dressed head to foot in black.

"Come in Potter, Weasley," he said in his deep voice. "We've still got a few minutes before nine. Make yourselves comfortable."

They sat down, just as they heard footsteps behind them. Looking over their shoulders, they saw Tonks walk through the door.

"Wotcher," she greeted them. "What's all this about, sir?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Nymphadora," Wenlock replied. Tonks winced slightly at the mention of her loathed first name.

Over the next few minutes more and more Aurors turned up until eventually what must have been three-quarters of the Department was gathered inside Wenlock's large office. Some were stood around the room while some, like Harry and Ron, were sat on chairs. At nine o'clock sharp, Wenlock stood up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in a grave tone, "I'm afraid I have very serious and very terrible news for you all." He paused for a moment to give his words a chance to sink in. Harry had to admit that it was effective. He himself was now more worried than other, and a quick glance over at Ron showed that he felt the same way. There was a moment of chatter before Wenlock raised a hand, receiving immediate silence. "The Office's Intelligence Division has confirmed the existence of a Death Eater remnant stronghold."

"Where, sir?" Harry asked.

"In the Muggle village of Little Hangleton," Wenlock replied. "Or, more precisely, just outside it. There is a large manor house there that, we believe, was the home of Lord Voldemort's Muggle ancestors."

"You-Know-Who had _Muggle ancestors_?" one of the Aurors asked, laughing. Everyone else joined in too. It was quite funny that the most prolific Muggle hater of all time had been part-Muggle.

"Yes," Wenlock replied simply, "and we believe that it is this 'Riddle House', as the Muggle villagers call it, that the Death Eaters have adopted as their base. We need to wipe them out. Duel to kill, because they will."

No chatter or laughter this time. Stony silence greeted Wenlock's words as the assembled Aurors awaited their orders.

"The leader?" Harry asked, intrigued as to who the surviving Death Eaters had rallied around.

"Rabastan Lestrange," Wenlock replied. "We believe he may have as many as a dozen of Lord Voldemort's most dangerous and devout followers with him."

"How did Intelligence find this out, sir?" asked Ron in a remarkable show of insight.

"We captured one of their men," Wenlock replied. "A wretch of a man called Scabior. A quick dose of veritaserum and he sang like a bird." Wenlock allowed malicious triumph to creep into his voice. Harry smiled to himself. He remembered Scabior and enjoyed the thought of him rotting in Azkaban.

A moment of silence.

"Orders, sir?" asked Tonks.

"The Minister has approved Operation Horntail," Wenlock said, conjuring a large parchment map from thin air. Harry looked at the plan on the map; it was unmistakably a large manor house, typical 1500's design but with some more modern alterations. Even so, it looked to be fifty or sixty years out of date. "We outnumber the Death Eaters almost five to one, so most will be kept in reserve surrounding the house while a strike team made up of our finest fighters infiltrates the house and eliminates the Death Eaters." Harry knew what was coming and was completely prepared when Wenlock turned to him and said, "Potter, you're going to lead the strike team. Weasley, Tonks, Castle, Fletcher, Bishop, you're with him. The rest of you will form a wide ring outside the house, use disillusionment charms to hide yourselves, and remain in reserve. Understood?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Operation Horntail commences at eight tonight. Good luck everyone."

Harry stood, despite feeling as though heavy irons were clapped to his legs. Yes he had faced worse than this before but every encounter with Death Eaters was a risk, a chance that he might not come home. The prophecy had been fulfilled now, there was no longer any form of magical protection for him. He might never see Hermione and their baby again after tonight.

Harry mentally slapped himself. He was being stupid. He was a far superior duellist to any Death Eater, he'd proven that time and time again, and he would have some very able support. He wouldn't be surprised if they all came out of this alive.

Even so, Harry decided to head straight home and tell Hermione everything. She ought to know, even if no one else ought to.

Harry did not stop to talk to anyone as he headed towards the lift, took it down to the atrium and headed straight for one of the fireplaces. Taking himself by Floo Powder back home, he emerged in the living room just as Hermione was coming down the stairs. Evidently she had been enjoying a lie in.

"There you are," she said, smiling at him and coming over to kiss him. She pressed her lips against his, but he was worrying too much to react. She noted the abnormality. "What's wrong?" she asked.

And Harry had proceeded to tell her all about the Death Eater holdout and Operation Horntail. At the point where Harry told her that he would be at the very front of the fighting, Hermione's eyes had grown wide with fright and her hands had tightened around Harry's waist.

"When do you go?"

"Tonight," he replied, causing her lower lip to tremble as she held back tears. "I'll come back," he said as he clutched her to his chest, "I promise."

"You'd better," she said quietly. "Because I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life."

"You won't be," Harry said. "You'll see me when I get back, unharmed."

"You won't be unharmed," she said, allowing a small laugh to escape her. "If there's a chance to be injured you'll take it."

Harry laughed. She was right, of course. Even in situations where he could have easily avoided injury he had not done.

"Maybe I subconsciously want to be hurt," he laughed.

"You're a fool," Hermione said. "But you're my fool. And you're coming back, okay?"

"I promise," Harry promised. He had never been more sincere about anything in his life. "I'll come back as healthy and unharmed as when I left."

If Harry had only known how untrue those words would turn out to be, he might have been more cautious with what he said. Instead, he and Hermione allowed themselves a day of bliss before Harry left to lead the Aurors.


	21. Operation Horntail

**Chapter Twenty One**

**Operation Horntail**

It was still fairly light when Harry apparated close to the large manor house he had last seen from the nearby village's graveyard when he had been just fourteen years old, a month or two from his fifteenth birthday. Now nearing nineteen, it seemed like a lifetime ago to Harry despite how short a period of time it had actually been. Around him, many of his fellow Aurors were appearing. Ron was already stood a short way away from him and Harry walked up. Ron, like Harry and the other Aurors, was once again clad in black robes. He was clutching his wand in his hand, and was twirling it absentmindedly.

"Worried?" Harry asked him, the single word enough to bring Ron out of his reverie.

"How could I not be?" he asked. "I mean don't get me wrong, this is what I signed up for. But I'm still scared. Luna is as well. Have you told Hermione?"

"Of course I have," Harry replied, "and I've promised her that I'm coming back unharmed."

Ron let out the same small laugh that Hermione had.

"You couldn't come back unharmed if your fortune depended on it," he joked. Harry laughed, the sound masking his own fear. Fear he managed only by fingering the handle of his wand. If he wanted it, he could have used the Elder Wand. But he felt that his Holly and Phoenix feather wand had always served him better. Many might call him insane but he would not use the unbeatable wand.

Harry lifted his wrist to look at his watch. It was ten to eight.

"Ten minutes," he said to Ron, who swallowed nervously and moved forward.

"This'll be tough," Ron said with the air of someone both excited and terrified. "We've got to run uphill _and _storm the house, all without their lookouts noticing us."

"I've got the cloak," Harry said, pulling it out of his pocket, "but it'll barely even cover one of us now, let alone seven or eight adults."

"If things go to Hell," Ron said, deadly serious, "use it. Don't worry about the rest of us, just get out of there."

"Ron, I won't-" Harry began, but his friend cut him off.

"You will," he said, seriously. "You are getting out of this, Harry. You are the one person the Death Eaters cannot be allowed to kill. It'd be such a coup for them."

Harry wanted to protest, but knew that Ron was right. He _was _the highest value target among the Aurors, and the Death Eaters would definitely want his blood more than the others.

Harry looked at the house again. The sun had now begun to set behind it, the sky overhead turning a bright orange as the sun's brilliant rays reflected off the clouds. The house's spires would almost certainly be acting as their lookout post, and Harry could almost fool himself into thinking that a Death Eater was in the window right now, staring right at them and shouting orders to his fellows.

About ten metres from him and Ron, Harry could see Tonks, silently steeling herself for the attack. He wondered who this was harder for: himself or Tonks? If he did not come home, he would be leaving behind a new wife and an unborn child. She would be leaving a husband and a son who already knew and relied upon her.

As eight o'clock drew near, the Aurors began to get themselves into formation. Twenty or so formed a wide circle around the manor and cast disillusionment charms upon themselves, while the strike team prepared itself to charge towards the large and dilapidated structure.

"Remember," said Harry, "duel to kill."

The others nodded and together they ran forward as silently as possible, closing the distance between themselves and the house. They had almost reached the front door, and Harry was allowing himself to believe they might make it inside unnoticed, when they heard a spell fire from above them. A split second later the ground where Ron had been moment earlier was thrown up in an explosion of earth, similar to the effect of a Muggle mortar shell. Harry ducked as a large rock flew close to him, and was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid a second attack. Looking up as he stood, Harry saw two masked and hooded Death Eaters in the windows facing them, wands drawn and firing spells down upon the Aurors. Harry aimed a stunning spell at one of them, and the Death Eater ducked down behind the rotting windowsill as the red light of Harry's spell sailed over his head and hit the opposite wall.

"FASTER!" Harry roared to the others. He forced his legs to move faster than it seemed they were capable of moving and, miraculously, he managed to duck inside the doorway, soon followed by the other members of the strike team. Even so, Harry did not allow himself respite even for a microsecond. They might have made it across the ground but now they would find themselves locked in room-to-room fighting. Close quarters was not about aim or reflexes but about who could cast fastest.

He could hear footsteps coming for them on all sides. Thinking faster than he had thought for a long time, he whispered orders to his team.

"Stay alert and be ready to cast when they appear," he said. They all nodded.

At that moment, a harsh voice, one twisted by madness, shrieked through the house.

"Come to die, Harry Potter?" Rabastan Lestrange shouted. "We will oblige you!" Harry remained silent, determined that Lestrange's distraction tactics would not succeed against him. He placed an index finger to his lips to indicate to all of the others that they should also remain silent. "Nothing to say?" Lestrange asked in the loud, mad voice. "Very well, your chance for final words has passed. Kill them!"

The last two words proved to be a mistake for Lestrange. When the first four Death Eaters appeared round corners and at the tops of staircases they were met by an immediate volley of different spells, incapacitating them. Lestrange let out a horrible laugh, a laugh that quite unnerved Harry.

He heard the same sound as he had while running towards the manor and threw himself forward to avoid the full force of the explosive spell, which he guessed to be Expulso. The strike team had all been forced to throw themselves away from each other, breaking up their own defensive formation, making it easier for the Death Eaters to attack them. Harry only just managed to get a shield charm up as an orange light flew towards him from one of the Death Eater's wands. In a matter of a moment, he pointed his own wand at his attacker, thought 'Stupefy', and his spell shout out of his wand faster than his opponent could prepare for it. The spell hit the Death Eater squarely in the chest and he was thrown back, limp as a ragdoll, and hit the back wall. Pivoting on his heel, Harry turned just in time to save Bishop from an attack from behind, sending another stunning spell into the second Death Eater's neck. He crumpled instantly, while Ron and Tonks both took down their assailants.

Fletcher and Castle, however, were faring less well. Both men had been cornered by their attackers, and Fletcher had lost his wand shortly after being forced up the stairs by his opponent. It was lying at his feet, snapped in clean in two, the wood splintered and the dragon heartstrings hanging out of the broken halves. It was far more grisly than Harry had thought it would be, seeing the rent and torn flesh of dragon organ trailing out onto the wooden floor. They were bloodless, the strings of dragon meat, but disgusting nonetheless.

Harry aimed a disarming spell at Fletcher's opponent but he cast too late. A flash of green light radiated from the corner of the room where Fletcher had been forced, and the Auror slumped to the ground, their first casualty. Harry, trying to prevent himself from becoming overcome with rage, fired stunning spell after stunning spell at the Death Eater who had killed Fletcher, and eventually he succeeded in penetrating the man's defences and hit him squarely in the face with a particularly strong stunning spell. The Death Eater fell face forward down the steps, bouncing sickeningly off each one, before landing on his head on the floor. A loud snapping noise told Harry that the Death Eater had broken his neck, and the blood seeping through the cloth of his robe and forming a pool around his lifeless skull indicated a severe head injury. If he wasn't dead already, he would be soon enough.

Meanwhile, Castle had managed to buy himself some time by momentarily blinding his attacker, aiming a Lumos spell directly into the eyeholes of the Death Eater's mask. The Death Eater staggered and ripped off the mask and Harry was shocked to see the thick set Gregory Goyle. Goyle had been one of his classmates at Hogwarts, and was exactly the sort who would join the Death Eaters; thuggish, stupid, violent and a slavish adherent of pure-blood supremacy. Furthermore, he was the son of a Death Eater, a demographic which almost always turned out bad.

Before Goyle could recompose himself, Tonks and Ron hit him with simultaneous stunning spells, both finding their target. Goyle fell backwards in a sprawl, his arms flailing as he fell.

Looking around the room in a second and taking everything in instantly, Harry saw that they had succeeded in beating back the Death Eaters, with two or three of the hooded fighters lying dead. Regrouping, the Death Eaters now knew the full extent of the Aurors' abilities and would be more ready when they were resent into the fray.

The respite proved to be very brief, as Lestrange joined the fray himself, leading all of his remaining Death Eaters, and targeting Harry personally. Lestrange, unlike his subordinates, wore no mask and Harry could see that his face had become disfigured and twisted since they had last faced each other. A large scar travelled from his right ear diagonally across his face until it reached his chin. His right eye was permanently bloodshot. Dark stubble covered his chin, upper lip and neck, as did many small white scars that had done a better job of healing than the great gash on his face.

Lestrange was proving to be a skilled duellist, despite his eye injury, and Harry found himself on the defensive almost constantly. On the rare occasions that he managed to send an offensive spell at Lestrange, the Death Eater either blocked it or it simply did not hit him, either owing to astounding reflexes on Lestrange's part or poor aim on Harry's.

From behind him Harry heard Ron's voice scream out "No!", followed shortly by the sound of a body falling to the floor. Harry desperately hoped that it was not one of his team. However, his hopes were dashed when Lestrange laughed again in that horrible, maniacal manner that still somehow conveyed triumph.

"Another Auror dog down, Potter! Do you feel pain at the loss? Or guilt? Or rage?"

Harry refused to let any emotion show, though he in fact felt all of the emotions that Lestrange had suggested. It was his fault that whoever was dead had been killed, and he was unsure if he would be able to bear it if it was either Ron or Tonks.

But a spin Harry performed to dodge a curse sent his way by Lestrange enabled him to see that it was, in fact, Castle who had been killed. It was still a blow, and a painful one, but not nearly as painful as the loss would have been had it been Ron or Tonks lying on the floor with the victorious Death Eater stood over their corpse. Turning back to face Lestrange just in time to see a curse heading towards him, Harry shouted "Protego!" conjuring a magical barrier between himself and the curse. It had not been the Killing Curse, and so the shield had proved effective, but Harry was nearing exhaustion and the shield faded quickly. Lestrange, sensing his fatigue, wasted no time. But his action surprised Harry. Lestrange lifted his wand towards Harry.

"Petrificus Totalus."

The full body bind hit Harry and he felt his arms and legs snap to his side and all power leave him. It was a highly unpleasant feeling, akin to numbness but all over his body and impossible to struggle against.

"We've got Potter," Lestrange announced. "Let's go before more of us die."

Lestrange grasped Harry's arm and Harry, unable to protest, felt himself carried along as his captor apparated away, taking Harry with him. They landed, and Harry knew that they were miles from the house. Even in the dark that had settled upon the land since the strike team had first approached the manor, Harry could see that he was somewhere out in the open, a hilly region with no trees for miles and only a small stream nearby. It looked, to Harry's best guess, to be the Scottish Highlands.

Beside him, the remaining Death Eaters, four of them, landed. Ron and Tonks were nowhere to be seen.

"The other Aurors?" Lestrange asked, as though reading Harry's mind and deciding to indulge him.

"Stunned," the Death Eater closest to Harry replied. He removed his mask, and Harry saw that it was Walden Macnair, among the most violent of the Death Eaters. It did not surprise Harry, when he thought about it, that the Death Eaters to escape capture were the most skilled among them; all those of lower skill had doubtless been captured or killed since the final battle.

"Why did you not kill them?" Lestrange demanded, striding towards Macnair and grasping the scruff of his robes.

"Left alive they can spread word of what we are capable of," Macnair replied, remaining perfectly calm even with Lestrange intimidating him. "We will be feared once again."

Lestrange did nothing for a long moment before releasing Macnair and walking back over to Harry, who was sat on the ground, not wanting to draw the ire of five powerful Death Eaters. Lestrange knelt down and leaned in close to Harry until they were almost nose to nose.

"You're mine now, Potter," he said in a low, menacing tone with a cruel smile on his face. "You'll be our prisoner until we have no more use of you, and then we'll kill you."

* * *

><p>It was almost eleven. Hermione had been sitting up ever since Harry had left, worrying herself sick over the mission he had been sent on. She had always known, subconsciously, that she could easily find herself in this situation; she was after all the wife of an Auror. But she had never really thought it would really happen until Harry had returned home from the Ministry that morning and told her about Operation Horntail.<p>

No matter how much she attempted to repress them, horrible images chased each other around Hermione's imagination, all of them culminating in the same thing: Harry's death. She was certain that if he was to be killed by Death Eaters then he would not simply be murdered, he would be carefully executed. And it would be public. She almost vomited at the thought.

Half an hour passed and still there was nothing. Sirius had retired to his bedroom hours earlier, assuring her before he had gone up that Harry would be alright. She had tried to share Sirius' optimism but had found herself unable. If she had known that Sirius was just as scared as she was she might have broken down completely and abandoned all hope, but as far as Hermione knew Sirius believed that Harry would be fine.

Half an hour passed and still there was nothing. Hermione found that she was looking up every two minutes or so and soon it just became a routine that she undertook without fully remembering why she was doing it. She simply was.

Occasionally, Hermione would look down at her still-flat stomach. She needed Harry to come home if only for the sake of their child. She had never wanted anything more than to give him a child, but to do that she needed him home, safe and alive.

"Where are you Harry?" she asked quietly to the room.

Glancing at the clock behind her, she saw that Harry's hand was pointed at 'Mortal Peril'. This did nothing to lift her spirits, though it also did not further sink them; it had been pointing at Mortal Peril almost from the moment that he had apparated away to begin the mission.

When she had fallen asleep she did not know. But Hermione was awoken from a shallow sleep by hammering on the front door. On the regular clock they kept on the wall opposite where she was sitting, she saw that it was almost midnight. Desperate to have her fears alleviated, she stood up and ran to the door, throwing it open when she reached it and readying herself to leap into Harry's arms.

But it was not Harry who greeted her at the door. Instead, Ron stood before her, looking distraught and much the worse for wear.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione demanded, craning her neck to see if he was stood behind Ron, perhaps hiding, though she knew in her heart of hearts that he was not.

"Hermione I am so, so sorry," Ron said.

"No," Hermione said, tears appearing in her eyes now. "He's not… he's not…"

"He's not dead," Ron said, though his expression did not change, "at least, not as far as we know."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded.

"He was captured," Ron replied. "Rabastan Lestrange took him away."

"Where?"

"We don't know."

Hermione broke down in floods of tears. At first, she gave into the anger she felt at Lestrange, at the Ministry, at Ron for coming back, at the world for doing this to her. She hit Ron's chest repeatedly, but he did not fight back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and repeated her name over and over again in a quiet voice that she found calmed her. Eventually she gave in and just let her tears flow onto his torn, filthy and blooded robes.


	22. Points of View

_A/N: This chapter will be written from multiple viewpoints; an experimentation with a different writing style. Each new viewpoint will be marked by a horizontal line so that you can easily differentiate. As always, read, review and enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty Two**

**Points of View**

Harry had not been allowed to sleep in the two days since his capture at Riddle Manor save for the scant few seconds in which his Death Eater captors had not noticed that he had drifted off. Every time he fell asleep, or came close to it, one of them would slap hard him across the face, waking him instantly and causing him a little extra pain. But in comparison to the almost hourly bouts of the Cruciatus Curse he was subjected to, the slaps were as the buzzing of a fly compared to the screeches of a banshee.

Harry had been fed and watered since his capture, but only because it ensured his continued survival. The only reason he had not been killed immediately inside Riddle Manor was because he was of more use to the Death Eaters alive than dead, and he was under no illusions as to his eventual fate if everything went Lestrange's way. He would be used to renew fear of the Death Eaters across the wizarding world and then summarily executed. He would never see anyone he loved again. Not Hermione, not Sirius, not Ron, not his unborn child. He would die surrounded by his enemies. But he was determined that if he was to die, he would do so with as much dignity as possible.

Even so he sincerely hoped, though he knew it was unlikely, that someone would come and rescue him. But how would they find him? The Death Eaters were using the same tactic that he, Ron and Hermione had used during their hunt for the horcruxes. Every morning they would apparate to a different location, taking Harry with them.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed that one of the Death Eaters was approaching him. It was Selwyn, a Death Eater that Harry well-recognised. He was striding towards Harry with an air of authority, his black cloak flapping behind him in the strong wind that had picked up since they had arrived on the lonely blasted heath they had come to several hours before.

"Tired, Potter?" Selwyn sneered. "You will not have respite until we see fit. With any luck," he said with real malice, "you'll have gone totally insane by the end of this week."

"I wouldn't count on it, Selwyn," Harry replied, managing a defiant grin at his captor. "I'm very resilient."

Selwyn's face contorted in anger and he raised his wand high above his head before bringing it down in a motion similar to a sword swing. A deep cut appeared on Harry's face and he gasped in pain as blood trickled down his cheek and onto his neck and clothes. If he could, he would have nursed the wound and attempted to stem the blood flow, but his hands had been tied behind his back almost since their first arrival in the Scottish highlands two days previously. His wand currently resided in Lestrange's robes, not being used but being kept well out of his reach, lest he try to retrieve it and escape. As it was, however, Harry had not been in a bleaker situation since he had been captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor a year before, but he had been with Ron and Hermione then and the three of them, along with Dobby, had worked together to escape. This time, he was completely on his own.

Selwyn had walked a few paces away from him and was looking out over the valley that lay at the foot of the hill they had come to. A small village was nestled there, and Harry knew that Selwyn longed to wreak bloody havoc upon the Muggles there.

From the other side of the small Death Eater camp came a low level growling. Harry knew what it was without even turning his head; Fenrir Greyback. He claimed to feel the changes coming and never tired of saying that there was a full moon coming. Greyback, dangerous at the best of times, was one of the most feared werewolves in Britain – perhaps in the world. And Harry had no doubt that if he did transform he would come straight for his, Harry's, neck. Becoming a werewolf was not something that Harry relished the prospect of, but what could he do? He was completely alone and there was nothing he could do about it. For the first time in his life, he felt completely defeated.

* * *

><p>Rabastan Lestrange had hated Fenrir Greyback from the moment of their meeting. The werewolf was not even really a wizard, let alone a pure-blood, and his inclusion now in the ranks as a fully-fledged Death Eater was due more to necessity than to actual merit. He might be taller and more physically powerful than the cadaverously thin Lestrange, but Lestrange was far and away his superior in magical combat, and was confident in his own abilities to keep the werewolf under control when he transformed. His claims that the time for transformation was coming closer and closer did not, therefore, unnerve Lestrange in the same way that they did so clearly the other Death Eaters. He appreciated that it was a new experience for them – they had only been joined by Greyback two weeks earlier – but they should have had more faith in their own abilities.<p>

"The Dark Lord would appreciate our efforts," said a voice to Lestrange's left. Turning, he saw that it was his brother Rodolphus. Rabastan's second-in-command, Rodolphus was nevertheless no longer up to the task of leading under any circumstance, so erratic and reckless had he become since Bellatrix's death, and Rabastan had appointed him merely to ensure harmony and avoid in-fighting, the last thing that the small group of Death Eaters could afford. Rabastan, therefore, was dedicated to taking every measure to ensure that he did not become so badly injured that Rodolphus would have to take charge.

"It was fitting that we captured Potter in the Dark Lord's ancestral home," Rabastan said. "It seems only right."

"You talk like a mystic, brother," Rodolphus said dismissively. "There is no 'fitting' or 'right'. There is only us and them, and we must take the fight to the Aurors as soon as possible, not jump around the country hiding from them."

Rabastan only just managed to suppress an exasperated sigh. Rodolphus had taken to suggesting this course of action several times a week in the last few months.

"As I have said countless times this past year," he began, in a tone that sounded as if he were explaining something simple to a child that they were finding difficult to grasp, "there are not enough of us, and even fewer now. We number six, brother, just six. And one of us," he glanced over at Greyback, who was sat on the grass eating a freshly caught and killed pigeon, blood splattered across his hands and maw, "is not even a wizard."

"A surprise attack on the Ministry-" Rodolphus began.

"Would be a fool's errand," Rabastan finished for his brother. "If you want to go and attack the fortress of our enemies then go. But you will have no support from me or any of these men here. You will die and soon be forgotten."

"You fear the Aurors?" Rodolphus asked, taunting his brother.

"I understand the reality of the situation," Rabastan shot back. "The Aurors outnumber us by a greater margin than ever, and even the Dark Lord would not have risked an all-out attack on the Ministry in our circumstances."

"The Dark Lord would have done whatever he saw fit," Rodolphus answered, "and it would have been wise."

"And at this time," Rabastan said, his tone becoming impatient, "it is wise to wait, to hide and to build our strength, as the Dark Lord himself did before our movement came into its own."

Rodolphus sneered at his brother and Rabastan knew that he was becoming angry.

"You believe you are the Dark Lord?"

Rabastan shook his head solemnly.

"The Dark Lord is dead, brother, and no magic can bring him back. And he truly is dead, this time; his horcruxes were all destroyed. But we can attempt to create the world he envisioned." He tried to place a placating hand on his brother's shoulder, but Rodolphus shrugged off the contact. "But to do that," Rabastan continued, undaunted, "we have to build up our forces. Do you understand?"

Rodolphus did not answer. Instead he gave his brother a dark look and stormed off towards Greyback. Rabastan turned his attention to the grey skies as the first drops of rain began to fall.

* * *

><p>Hermione was just one of the many people who were attending the joint funeral of the two Aurors Castle and Fletcher, whose bodies lay at the centre of a circle of standing attendees, all of them robed in mourning black. Ron, who was standing beside her with his arm around her shoulders, attempting to comfort her, had told her that Castle and Fletcher had been members of the strike team that he had also been a part of and that Harry had led. No tears fell from Hermione's eyes, not out of a lack of emotion but out of what seemed to be a physical inability to shed anymore tears. She had been crying almost constantly since Ron had arrived at the house and told her of Harry's capture, unable to sleep properly or do anything productive.<p>

On the opposite side of the circle from Hermione stood Tonks, gazing down at the two bodies with red, swollen eyes, tears streaming down her face and falling onto the ground. She had doubtless been friendly with the two men and Hermione knew that this funeral was far worse for the metamorphmagus than it was for herself. She had not even known of either Castle or Fletcher's existence until after their deaths and was mostly here for appearance's sake.

Next to Tonks stood a dark-haired man whom Ron had singled out as he had arrived and identified as Armitage Wenlock, the man who was currently serving as the Acting Head of the Auror Office and the man who had both devised and executed Operation Horntail. Hermione had glowered at him from afar, intensely angry at him for putting Harry in such danger. Wenlock had not so much as glanced at her but, as Ron had said, the man was so skilled an Auror that he had probably noticed her and was deliberately avoiding her in order to avoid a confrontation.

Hermione brought her attention back to the funeral. Beside the two bodies stood Barnaby Winkman, the same man who had officiated at hers and Harry's wedding not three weeks before, presiding over the funeral.

"These two men," Winkman began in a sorrowful tone, "were taken from us too soon in life in the service of justice. May we forever remember that their sacrifice brought us closer to a harmonious world." Silence ruled as Winkman paused before resuming his eulogy. "Both Robert Fletcher and Hugh Castle were good men, dedicated and skilled Aurors, and stalwart, life-long enemies of the Dark Arts. We owe them a debt that can never be repaid." Another pause before Winkman began a brief summarising of the two men's lives, but Hermione was no longer listening. She was staring at the ground and had become caught up in her own imaginings of where Harry was and what was being done to him. She imagined horrible disfigurations, torture, humiliation and worst of all the idea that Harry was afraid, something that she had never considered before. From the moment he had thrown himself at a mountain troll during their First Year at Hogwarts she had known that Harry was immune to fear, though now her ironclad conviction of that was waning. Hermione wanted nothing more than to be able to comfort him, hold him close and kiss him but was unable and this fact tormented her every waking moment. She too was scared, more scared than she had ever been in her entire life. Everyone close to her had tried to comfort and reassure her but none of them had managed to set her mind at ease or even come close to it.

Hermione distantly became aware of someone saying her name. Bringing herself back to the world she heard Ron's voice.

"Hermione? Hermione?"

She turned to face him, focus returning to her.

"Hmm?"

"People are leaving."

He was right. The many mourners were beginning slowly to turn and walk away from the dual tombs that had been magically conjured to encase the bodies of Fletcher and Castle.

"You go without me," she said to Ron. "There's something I want to do."

Ron followed her eyes and saw that she was staring at Armitage Wenlock, who was thanking Winkman for giving his Aurors the departure that they deserved.

"Hermione, no," he said firmly. Hermione rounded on him.

"I can do what I like," she snapped. "Because of that man my husband, your _best friend_, is missing."

Ron tried to protest further but Hermione simply ignored him. She strode towards Wenlock, an angry expression on her face. Wenlock's face betrayed a flicker of fear when he saw Hermione, but he quickly regained himself.

"Mrs Potter," he began, "I'm so sorry-"

"Don't," Hermione said, her voice shaking with anger. "My husband is missing because of you." Before Wenlock would speak, she continued. "It was your plan, you decided how it was executed, you knew how many Death Eaters there were and their skills. And yet you still decided to disadvantage the Aurors you sent in?" Refraining from screaming was all she could do now, and it only angered her further that Wenlock seemed unmoved by her words. When he spoke it was in a calm and measured tone that Hermione was totally incapable of.

"I am sorry, Hermione." The use of her name caught Hermione off guard, and she felt her facial expression change momentarily. "I will do everything I can to get Harry back. That is a promise," Wenlock continued. Hermione scoffed.

"Ministry promises never amount to anything," she said quietly before turning and walking back to where Ron stood, waiting for her.

* * *

><p>After dropping Hermione back at her home and ensuring that Sirius would look after her, Ron had returned to the Burrow. Not stopping to talk to anyone, he had gone up to his bedroom, sat on the bed and thought hard about the situation. Harry was missing, and Hermione was too distraught with fear and sadness to be able to think straight. Wenlock's half-hearted promises of a search for Harry had not bolstered anyone's confidence in the man and in any case nobody knew where the Death Eaters, and Harry, were. After the battle in the Manor they had not returned, and the Death Eaters who had survived the battle and been left behind had been arrested by the Ministry and taken for questioning. But they had been unable to shed any light on where Lestrange might have taken Harry. Veritaserum had confirmed that only Rabastan had known where they would move to each time, with the others not finding out until they disapparated alongside him.<p>

Ron lay back on his bed and gazed up at the ceiling. He felt completely powerless, a feeling he was acquainted with but did not relish to any degree. He felt that Harry's capture was somehow his fault. If he had just fought harder or reacted faster, they might have been able to defeat the Death Eaters. He had been told by everyone, even Hermione, that such notions were nonsense and that there was nothing he should reproach himself for, but still he did. He supposed that this was how Harry must have felt for most of the preceding eight years. Ron suddenly had a lot more sympathy for his best friend's urge to run off and save people in danger and resolved to apologise to him for the many times he had scoffed at Harry's trait over the years. That was assuming that they ever found him.

And then, he remembered.

Sitting bolt upright and scrambling off the bed, he ran to his travelling bag and began to hunt around inside it for the silver put-outer that Dumbledore had given to him just before he, Harry and Hermione had departed on the horcrux hunt. He cursed himself for the amount of junk and clutter that he had allowed to accumulate inside the bag and eventually had to resort to summoning it and catching it as it flew out of the bag. He stared intently at it for a few moments, and then remembered that it had only led him back to Harry and Hermione because Hermione had said his name. Unless Harry said his name for some reason, then Ron doubted the put-outer would be able to guide him to where Harry was.

"Please, guide me," he whispered imploringly to the silver device. Nothing happened. "Please," he repeated, begging the device to work. Still nothing. Ron threw the put-outer down onto the bed, angry.

And then a ball of light, exactly like the one that had guided him to where Harry and Hermione would be, appeared out of the put-outer. Ready this time, Ron stood up and braced himself as the light entered his body where his heart was. Immediately he knew where Harry was, but he also knew that he did not have long to act on his knowledge.

Racing out of his room and down the stairs, Ron sprinted into the living room. Ignoring Percy's protestations that Ron was disturbing him, Ron grabbed a handful of Floo Powder off the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire. Stepping into the green fire that appeared, Ron said "Ministry of Magic" and was sucked away into the network of fireplaces.

After a few seconds, he arrived in the Ministry atrium and, wasting no time, sprinted through the large room towards the lifts, managing to hurl himself into an empty one, press the button for the top floor, and then the emergency close button, sealing the doors despite the protestation of a middle aged witch who had been about to walk into it. Ron urged the lift to travel faster as it rose, resuming his mad sprint when the doors opened. Hurtling into the Minister's office, he was greeted by a bemused, and slightly alarmed, Kingsley sat behind his desk.

"Minister," Ron gasped, "I know where Harry is."

* * *

><p>Night had fallen on the hill where the Death Eaters had made their camp. The rain that had begun hours earlier was now hammering down, drenching anything without adequate cover, including Harry. The Death Eaters had all retreated inside their tents, with the exception of Macnair who had been given the job of keeping watch and guarding Harry. Macnair was obviously unhappy about this; he was muttering angrily and blasting holes in the ground using the same spell that Harry and his strike team had been subjected to as they had charged toward the Riddle house. Each blast splattered Macnair in more mud, and this only made his mood deteriorate further.<p>

Harry simply sat where he was, allowing the rain to soak him. The gash that Selwyn had inflicted on his cheek was stinging in the downpour but Harry did not care. In fact, he welcomed the sensation; it proved to him that he was still sane and alive. This, along with the fact that Greyback's prophesied full moon had not come, were all that were keeping Harry from lapsing into despair. Still, he was determined not to let the Death Eaters break him.

A rustling from the underbrush of the eaves of a forest not far from the Death Eater camp made both Harry and Macnair turn to look. Small animals were scampering away from the disturbance and several birds had taken flight. Macnair gave Harry a cruel look, more out of habit than anything else, before going over to investigate. Harry returned his gaze to the empty space in front of him. He still had absolutely no idea where he was, and none of the Death Eaters were in any mind-set to tell him.

Several minutes passed and still there was no sign of Macnair. Harry did not much care what had happened to him but did worry about what the other Death Eaters would do to him if his guard was found dead or went missing. Doubtless they would blame him, despite there being no way whatsoever that Harry could possibly have done anything, and subject him to further torture.

A voice suddenly sounded from behind him.

"You will not believe how pleased I am to see you."

Harry recognised the voice as belonging to Ron. He turned, but there was no one there. Was he imagining Ron's voice? Had he begun to go mad after all?

But then Ron had removed the disillusionment charm that he had placed upon himself and proceeded to untie Harry's hands. As soon as the roped fell away Harry leapt to his feet and embraced his friend.

"How the Hell did you find me?" he asked in hushed tones, being careful not to wake the Death Eaters. Ron produced the deluminator in response and Harry nodded. "Of course," he said.

"Where's your wand?" Ron asked.

"Rabastan's got it," Harry replied, gesturing over to Rabastan's tent. Ron nodded and raised his own wand. At once, Harry's wand flew out of Rabastan's tent towards them. With the reflexes of a seeker, Harry caught it and twirled it once in his hand.

"It's good to have this back," he said, smiling down at the wand. "Is it just you?" he asked, changing subject.

"I've got a few Aurors standing by," Ron answered. "What do you say we arrest these bastards right now?"

"Good plan," Harry replied. Ron nodded to somewhere in the middle distance and before Harry's eyes ten people removed disillusionment charms. Ron, remaining silent, signalled towards the Death Eater tents and the ten Aurors moved off towards them. There then followed an entertaining few moments where the Death Eaters, caught completely off guard, confusedly gave themselves up and were arrested by the Aurors.

"Take them to the nearest outpost," Ron ordered, "then on to the Ministry. Get their wands from the tents and destroy them. We can't risk anyone coming across them.

Two Aurors whom Harry vaguely recognised nodded and moved off to the campsite. Ron turned to Harry.

"Come on," he said, "let's get you home."


	23. The Return

_A/N: Back to the hopeless, fluffy romantic stuff now. Next chapter: Quidditch! I'm now at university so I'm afraid I won't be able to post as often as I have been doing. I will endeavour to maintain some semblance of regularity but it will be difficult. However, I will not leave this story until it is finished so until we reach a definite end you can always be sure that more chapters WILL come eventually._

**Chapter Twenty Three**

**The Return**

Harry and Ron arrived on solid ground after the whirling and squeezing sensation of apparition had subsided. Harry looked up at where they were, and almost cried to see that it was Sirius' house. It had only been two days since he had last seen it but it felt like years more, and he half-expected Hermione not to recognise him when she saw him. He was looking forward to seeing her; Ron had said that she had been inconsolable ever since Harry's capture and he wanted nothing more than to hold her tightly and reassure her that he was safe now. Then he wanted to get back to having a normal life.

"She's probably up," Ron said from next to him. "She's hardly been able to sleep since you were captured."

Harry said nothing; he only nodded at Ron, who smiled at him before disapparating. Harry, now alone, walked quickly towards the house. He grasped hold of the door handle, pulled it very gently and quietly so as to surprise Hermione, and opened the door.

He entered the hall and looked into the kitchen. There was no one there. Moving into the living room, Harry saw Sirius sleeping on the sofa. His godfather had gone slightly to seed in Harry's absence and sported a thin layer of black stubble on his face and neck. Not wanting to give away the surprise of his return, he slowly exited the room and closed the door as quietly as he could. Heading upstairs, he now considered that there were two rooms that Hermione could be in: Either she was in their bedroom, or she was in her lofty sanctuary. Harry decided to first check the latter.

Pulling down the ladder, Harry climbed up in near silence and found the room completely dark.

"Lumos," he said in a barely audible whisper.

The room looked as though it had not been touched for weeks, which – Harry reminded himself – was entirely possible. A thin layer of dust had gathered over everything, like grey snow that had fallen evenly.

Harry crept through the room, pointing his wand in every direction so as to see into every dark corner. There was no one here, either. To be expected, he supposed. The room would not have been as dusty as it was had Hermione taken to spending a lot of time in here.

That left just one room. Exiting the sanctuary and extinguishing his wand, Harry walked quietly into the room that he and Hermione had shared ever since they had first begun living at Sirius' house after they had left Hogwarts. Harry looked into the room and saw that Hermione was fast asleep in the bed, curled up on her side as if he were already lying next to her. Harry wore a huge smile just to look at her, and now really did burst into joyful tears. He was home and everything would be back to normal.

Harry silently undressed and then donned his pyjamas before climbing into bed, being very careful not to wake his wife. Having had no sleep for two days, he was instantly gone and spent hours in a deep sleep.

Hermione awoke feeling the swirling and churning in her stomach that always heralded morning sickness. Getting up and moving quickly to the bathroom, she failed to register that Harry had been lying next to her. In fact, it was not until she had ceased vomiting and was making her way back to bed that she noticed him at all. When she saw him she was at first afraid, believing him to be a stranger. It was so unlikely that it was Harry that her logical mind could not comprehend that it could be him. But then the evidence of her own eyes proved too much and she realised that he was, indeed, home. She dropped to her knees by his side of the bed and, not caring that he was asleep, kissed him hard on the lips. As her hands moved to his cheeks and hair, and her tongue began to run across his lips, she felt him awaken. Immediately, he returned the kiss, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. They broke apart for air and Harry started to laugh with happiness.

"I'm sorry I broke my promise," Harry said. "I didn't come home and I'm not unharmed."

Hermione traced the wound on his cheek with her finger.

"All zees scarz show," she began, imitating Fleur and exaggerating her accent, "iz zat my 'uzband iz brave."

Harry laughed, recalling the words from two years ago.

"I missed you so, so, so much," he said to Hermione after a few seconds more of kissing. "You were the only thing that kept me sane."

"I could say exactly the same to you," Hermione replied, giving him short kisses between words. "I was so scared."

"I know," Harry said, sounding sympathetic, "Ron told me. And I was scared too."

"No need to be scared now though," Hermione said. "You're back now and you're all mine."

"That I am," Harry agreed. They looked into each other's eyes for a few moments more before Hermione got onto the bed, climbed on top of Harry and resumed her passionate kisses.

They did not return to sleep that night. Instead, the Potters made love. Hermione's belly was still to begin expanding and it was comfortable for both of them in almost any position. After what they both agreed had been the best night of their lives they had simply laid together cuddling, Hermione's head resting on, and occasionally her lips kissing, Harry's chest. Harry, for his part, pulled Hermione against him and frequently planted kisses on her crown and forehead.

"It's strange," Harry said, after almost two hours of silence. "Just hours ago it felt like years since I'd last seen you. But now that I'm back-"

"It feels like you were never gone?" Hermione suggested. Harry nodded at her. "I feel the same way," she said, rolling fully on top of him so that he was looking up at her. Her index finger traced his muscles while his own arms were behind his head. "I can't believe how much I missed you," she said, kissing him when she had finished. A brief pause followed in which Harry and Hermione simply looked at each other. "What's going to happen?" Hermione asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry had been thrown by the almost-infinite ambiguity of the question.

"What's going to happen to Wenlock?" Hermione clarified. Harry inhaled deeply, thinking fast.

"I imagine there'll be an inquiry as to how things went so wrong. It was his plan, after all." Harry paused and turned his head on its side so that he was looking at the window rather than at his wife. "I'll probably have to testify."

"Oh haven't they put you through enough?" Hermione said slightly despairingly. "Do you have to speak against your boss as well?"

"I probably will," Harry replied. "That's just the system," he said in response to the look on Hermione's face. "It's not my fault."

"I never meant to imply that it was," Hermione said. "I just wish they'd leave you alone."

Harry was silent for a long moment. He knew that Hermione was right and if he was honest with himself he wanted the same thing as her: For the Ministry to just leave him alone. In addition, he knew that being an Auror was no profession for the breadwinner of a young family, with a nursing mother and a new baby. This would require more serious thought later on.

For now, however, Harry refocused his attention on Hermione, who was still gazing at him and waiting for him to say something.

"Yeah, me too," he contented himself with. After another few seconds of silence Hermione spoke.

"Want to go again?"

Harry's response was to smile widely at his wife, wrap his muscular arms around her and pull her against him as they once again kissed passionately.

Later that morning, Harry was sat in the kitchen eating his breakfast when Sirius entered the room. Sirius had not known that Harry had returned, so Harry was looking forward to seeing his godfather's reaction at his return.

"Hermione," Sirius began as he walked through the door, "have you got the-"

He stopped dead when he saw Harry, sat in his chair, grinning. For several seconds Sirius moved his mouth, trying to speak but finding that he was unable. Eventually the older man gave up attempting to speak and instead strode over to his godson as Harry stood. Then Sirius flung his arms wide and enveloped him in a rib-crushing hug, which Harry instantly returned. They remained embracing for a few seconds before they pulled away from each other, but with their hands remaining on each other's arms.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you," Sirius said, beaming at Harry.

"Probably as good as it is to see you," the younger man said, wearing an almost identical expression to the one his godfather was wearing. At that moment, Harry felt utterly content. He had been through Hell and come out unchanged, the Death Eaters had all been arrested and would languish in Azkaban, and he was back with the two people he loved most in the world.

The news that Harry Potter had been captured in the first place had not been common press knowledge, and the Ministry had decided not to release the details of his latest story of triumph over adversity. Harry was thankful, unsure as he was about how much more press attention he could take before one day snapping at a press conference and threatening all and sundry with every combination of hexes and jinxes he could imagine. He had expressed this opinion to Hermione, who had agreed that the Ministry had acted well in not releasing the news.

"Imagine the panic that would have erupted if everyone knew what had happened to you," she said, allowing Harry to well-visualise the hushed whispers on Diagon Alley exchanged over copies of the Daily Prophet whose headline would scream 'CHOSEN ONE CAPTURED!' It was easy for Harry to imagine that a silent but crippling fear would have gripped the population, most of whom idealised Harry as invincible and all-powerful.

"Let them have their myth," Harry said, "if that's what they need to sleep at night."

Harry had something else to occupy his mind: the Quidditch World Cup would soon be starting, and with the tickets that Hermione had given him for Christmas, Harry intended to watch as many matches as he could. Hermione, not relishing the thought of spending an entire fortnight away from Harry, had agreed to join him. The Weasleys had also bought tickets, so passionate was their family about Quidditch. Sirius, though not managing to obtain tickets for every match, had managed to buy one of the much-coveted tickets for the final.

"I hope England does better than it did last time," Sirius growled over dinner the night before Harry and Hermione were due to leave for the campsite in Ireland.

"We've put together a good side," Harry said, sounding optimistic. "Almost all of the last World Cup's team have been kicked out."

"Isn't Oliver Wood on the team this year?" Hermione asked, sharing one of her scant few pieces of Quidditch-related knowledge. Harry held fond memories of his former Quidditch captain, and knew that he was a highly able player who had managed to get himself signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team just after he had left Hogwarts. Six months ago, Harry had heard that he had made their full-time keeper

"I think so," Harry replied. "He's done wonders for Puddlemere United since they put him in the main squad."

"They won last year didn't they?" Sirius asked.

"Yep," Harry replied, nodding. "I think I read somewhere that Wood made more saves in the first five matches than Puddlemere's last five keepers had ever made between them."

"Impressive," Sirius said appreciatively. "If they're all as good as him we should be in with a chance."

Harry nodded in fervent agreement, remembering vividly how well Wood had played at Hogwarts and thinking that if he still played with half of that skill then he would still be a brilliant player.

"I'm going to bed," said Hermione, standing up. "Are you coming Harry or are you going to be up later?"

"I'll come up now," Harry answered, also standing up. "Got a long day tomorrow. Goodnight Sirius."

"Night you two," Sirius said, raising his hand in an approximation of a wave. Harry and Hermione both returned the gesture before walking up the stairs and into their bedroom.

"Why's the Cup starting so early this year?" she wondered aloud as they entered the room and closed the door behind them. She did have a point, Harry knew; the Quidditch World Cup usually didn't start until mid-July, rather than mid-June as it was doing this year.

"I've got no idea," Harry replied, and if he was honest with himself he did not particularly care.

Harry and Hermione both changed into their nightclothes and climbed into bed. Hermione picked up her wand from the bedside table, flicked it once, and a book was conjured in mid-air before her. In silence, she summoned it to her and caught it when it came within arm's reach. Harry smiled to himself; she had been able to do magic of this sort almost for as long as Harry had known her and yet it never failed to impress him whenever she performed feats like that one.

Hermione opened the book and began to read, her eyes darting from side to side across the page. Harry watched for a few moments before she caught his eye.

"What?" she asked, smiling slightly.

"Nothing," Harry replied. "I'm just thinking how fantastic you are."

Hermione's smile grew and Harry was rewarded for his compliment with a kiss.

"You're such a romantic," she said.

"I try," he replied, grinning as his words elicited a small laugh from his wife.

"You succeed," she said in turn. Both of them smiled at each other, remembering the words from their first date. Had it really been more than a year ago? It felt like far less time for both of them, with the exception of the two days Harry had spent as the prisoner of the Death Eaters. That had seemed more like twenty years.

"Who's playing tomorrow?" Hermione asked, causing Harry to roll his eyes and laugh simultaneously. "What?" she asked, not knowing what Harry found funny?

"Have you even looked at your ticket?"

Hermione was silent for a second before saying,

"Erm… no."

"Well if you had you'd know that tomorrow it's England against Russia. I hope we win. I couldn't bear for England to be knocked out at the start of the tournament."

Now it was Hermione's turn to sigh.

"I'll never understand your Quidditich-mania," she said, smiling and returning her attention to her book. "I mean, it's only a game."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again, deciding that it would be wiser to say nothing at all. Hermione had never managed to grasp the thrill of Quidditch, the intense feelings of both pride and shame depending on the progress of the match, the sheer excitement of watching two seekers race each other to the impossibly small and fast Golden Snitch.

But then, Harry supposed, he loved playing Quidditch as well as watching it. Hermione, by contrast, was among the worst flyers he had ever met; it was the one thing she had never been very good at while they'd been at Hogwarts and Harry had always thought that her opinion of Quidditch was tainted because of it. She enjoyed watching it, as most wizards and witches did, but she had never been passionate about it in the same way that Harry and Ron were.

The following morning, Harry woke up early in the morning. He was convinced that it was excitement that had roused him, and looked at the clock on his bedside table and saw that it was half-past five in the morning. Groaning with frustration at the knowledge that there were still hours to go before he and Hermione were due to leave for the campsite, Harry threw his head back down on the pillow and tried to recapture sleep. But he might as well have been attempting to resurrect the dead for all the success he had.

Eventually, Harry felt Hermione stir beside him and a moment later she sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes and groaning herself. Checking the clock again, Harry saw that it was nearing eight o'clock. Deciding that it would be best to pull himself out of bed, he too sat up, startling Hermione slightly.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"About two and a half hours," Harry confessed, earning a sympathetic look from his wife.

"Are you that excited?"

Harry merely nodded at her before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the floor of the bedroom. Standing up, he moved over to the wardrobe, pulled out his clothes, and, after casting hygiene charms, began to dress, while Hermione busied herself in the bathroom. By the time she was finished and had started to dress, Harry was already half-way through packing his travel bag with clothes and food for the stay on the campsite.

"You took your time," he joked.

"I'm a woman," she replied, flicking her wand, as she did every morning, and summoning her clothes to her out of the wardrobe. As she took off her nightdress Harry abandoned his packing and turned to look, leaning against the wall as he brazenly watched her. Hermione, noticing, decided to tease him a little, and refused to face him as she undressed.

"Spoil sport," Harry said, grinning at her. She grinned in return before biting her lower lip and giving him a seductive look as she put her clothes on. When she was sufficiently covered, she turned back around and walked slowly towards him before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his in an intense, passionate kiss.

"Never leave me again," she said in a quiet, almost frightened, voice. Harry could well-understand her fear; he too had been afraid that he would never see Hermione again.

"I promise," he said simply before kissing her again.

When they pulled apart, they remained in each other's arms for many minutes before Hermione released Harry save for one of his hands and the two of them descended the stairs together.

When they entered the kitchen, they found it deserted. Evidently Sirius was not awake yet. Deciding to leave him a note, Harry conjured a parchment, quill and ink and wrote.

_Sirius,_

_Gone to the campsite. See you at the final._

_Harry and Hermione_

Throwing down the quill, Harry turned to Hermione and gestured for them to leave. Hermione nodded and the two of them walked towards the front door. Almost as soon as they had crossed the threshold, Hermione grasped Harry's hand again and they apparated away, landing almost immediately on a hill covered with tents very similar to the ones that had been present at the campsite of the 1994 World Cup. In fact, Harry recognised many of them, including a castle-like structure complete with turrets and a moat.

Seeing that there were fewer regulations this time around with relation to Muggles noticing the campsite, Harry simply pulled the tent out of his bag, upon which Hermione had placed an undetectable extension charm, and set it up with a wave of his wand. As the pegs and poles arranged themselves Harry turned to Hermione.

"Thank you for coming with me," he said, giving her hand a squeeze as he spoke. "I know you'd rather be back at home reading a book."

Hermione gave a small laugh.

"Harry, there is literally nowhere else that I would rather be. Wherever we are, as long as I'm with you I don't mind."

Harry smiled down at her and kissed her softly as the tent completed its own construction. Harry moved forward, opened the flap, and ushered Hermione inside, performing a mock bow as he did so, in almost identical a gesture to the one he had performed on their wedding day. Hermione walked into the tent, a new one that Harry had purchased only days before, and Harry followed her. His mouth almost hit the floor when he saw the tent's interior.

An enormous canvas ceiling stretched above their heads, held up by, not so much poles, as pillars of wood, each one ornately carved. A king-sized double bed stood in one corner of the enormous single room that made up the tent, with a complete kitchen in another corner, a bathroom complete with power shower and fine porcelain sink in a third and finally a small pool in the fourth. In the centre of the room stood a large banqueting table. It was not nearly as large as the ones at Hogwarts, but still far larger than the average dining table.

"Wow," was all Harry could manage to say, summing up his entire feelings about the tent in the single sound. Hermione, similarly, could only manage to stare in awe.

"I wish we'd had one like this when we were looking for the horcruxes," she eventually said. Harry couldn't help but agree. As nice as that tent had been, it didn't hold a candle to the new tent that Harry and Hermione now occupied.

The rest of the day passed slowly, Harry and Hermione spending most of their time simply enjoying each other's company, talking and laughing like the best friends they had been for years. To the casual observer, the only thing that would have given away that they were a married couple rather than close friends were the rings both were wearing on their third fingers and the amount of times Harry rested a hand on Hermione's stomach. They were best friends as well as husband and wife, and neither would have had it any other way.


	24. England vs Russia

_A/N: I know that the ending to this chapter is very weak and I beg your forgiveness._

**Chapter Twenty Four**

**England vs. Russia**

That evening, as the match began to approach, Harry began to grow excited and restless, so much so that Hermione began to feel a little exasperated by him.

"Honestly Harry," she said, her tone making Harry stop bouncing on the balls of his heels and drumming his hands on his legs and turn towards her, an apologetic expression on his face. Hermione held her own expression for a while longer before letting it soften. "There's only an hour to go," she said, her tone possessing a slight inflection of imploring. Harry understood the subtle implication.

"Sorry," he said, wearing what he hoped was a winning smile. "I'm just so excited," he said, painfully aware of how childish the words sounded but also aware of their complete honesty. Now it was Hermione's turn to give a small smile. She crossed the short distance between her and her husband in two steps, wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. Harry, in response, wrapped his own arms around Hermione and rested his head atop hers. For a few moments they merely stood there, locked together, enjoying the closeness and revelling in the uninhibited emotion that the two of them felt for each other.

"I love you," Hermione said quietly.

"I love you too," Harry replied. His own voice was deep rather than quiet but his words were no less heartfelt than Hermione's.

The conclusion of the standing embrace was a mildly passionate kiss, not of the same calibre of the ones they shared when they were making love but far more passionate than the small pecks they exchanged in public.

Ten minutes before the match was due to start, Harry and Hermione left their tent and joined the throng that was streaming as one towards the enormous stadium that the Irish Department of Magic, the Roinn na Draíochta, had constructed near the campsite. Walking slowly, shuffling along with the other excited fans, they moved towards the enormous structure, half-hidden inside a copse of trees. The fewer number of Muggles nearby than there had been at the last World Cup did, however, seemed to have filled the Roinn with a feeling of careless half-heartedness towards the International Statute of Secrecy, and any Muggle who would have happened to have been walking nearby would have seen the stadium and, probably, would have written it off in their mind as a bizarrely placed hurling stadium.

That, Harry had always thought, was the fundamental failing of the wizarding world: Its mentality resided still in the Middle Ages, terrified of being hunted like a fox by hounds and burnt at the stake. Now, as Harry and any other wizard who had had enough experience of Muggles knew, Muggles no longer even believed in magic, let alone nurtured a burning hatred of all things wizarding. The probability that they would deduce the presence of genuine magic was astronomically small.

The stadium drew gradually closer as Harry and Hermione, hand in hand, approached it and the chattering of the people around them grew louder and louder. Harry could feel mounting excitement and anticipation, and even Hermione would not have been able to deny that she was looking forward to the match. It had always been the case at Hogwarts that in the moments immediately preluding Gryffindor's Quidditch matches, when Hermione had known that she would soon see Harry in his element, racing around the pitch on his broom, over which he exercised masterful control. She wondered, now that she was married to him, how she had never realised before that week after Ron had stormed away from the tent that she had always had feelings for him. Remembering the thrill she had always got when he had zoomed right past her in his pursuit of the Snitch it now seemed obvious, especially given her penchant for Quidditch players.

Sidling up to the front of the queue to enter the stadium Harry and Hermione stood before a bored-looking Irish official, who took their tickets from them, surveyed them for a few seconds then handed them back all without saying a word. Taking this to mean that there was nothing wrong with the tickets, Harry and Hermione entered the stadium, climbing the stairs up to the top box, from where they could see the entire stadium from above. Even the goal posts, themselves fifty feet high, were short in comparison to the walls of the stands, culminating in the seventy-five feet high top box, where Harry, Hermione and a number of important looking wizards and witches were sat waiting for the match to begin. On the seats sat a pair of omnioculars each and Harry immediately grasped his and put them to his face, immediately seeing that the usual advertisements glared at Harry from across the stadium in a whirl of colours and light.

_THE LIGHTNING RACING BROOM, AVAILABLE NOW!_

_BERTIE BOTT'S EVERY FLAVOUR BEANS! A RISK WITH EVERY MOUTHFUL!_

And other such gaudy and brazen adverts, all attempting to draw the masses into their fold. Harry found it almost comical.

Ten minutes later, though it seemed like hours to Harry, the adverts disappeared, replaced by a board that read 'England: 0, Russia: 0' and Harry noticed that Ludo Bagman had made his way into the top box looking flustered and hurried. Evidently Bagman was commentating and, apparently, was late. Bagman drew his wand and pointed it at his throat, saying 'Sonorus' as he did so.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," Bagman boomed, drawing a roar of appreciation and anticipation from the hundred-thousand strong crowd. "It is my very great pleasure to welcome, to introduce this truly fantastic Quidditich World Cup, and its opening match, Brian O'Flannery, Irish Minister for Magic!"

Polite but, because of the number of people present, hugely loud applause greeted Bagman's introduction as O'Flannery, a short and balding wizard with wispy white hair atop his head, stepped up beside Bagman, who placed the sonorus charm on the older wizard.

"Good evening," O'Flannery said in a thick Irish accent with a reedy voice that sounded as though it always needed the sonorus charm just to be heard, "and welcome to the 423rd Quidditch World Cup." Here he paused to allow the crowd to cheer wildly again. When he resumed speaking it was in Irish. Harry supposed it was a precise repetition of what he had just said, because a large number of people cheered in exactly the same way as everyone else had. O'Flannery stepped aside, waved his hand over his throat again, and took his seat in the centre of the front row while Bagman stepped up once more.

"Our referee," Bagman said, his every syllable displaying the showmanship he was so well-practiced in, "all the way from Austria, is the very lovely Heidi Braunwald."

At her name, a youthful witch mounted her broom in the wings and flew out onto the pitch to the sort of applause the crowd had favoured O'Flannery with. She sported a long curtain of chocolate-coloured hair and was possessed of bright blue eyes of a similar appearance to Dumbledore's.

"And now," boomed Bagman, "I give you the Russian team mascots!"

"Harry, look," Hermione said, pointing and sounding awed. Harry followed the direction of her finger and saw five creatures that appeared to look like large bowtruckles.

"What are they?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Ieshyi," Hermione replied as though this would clear up Harry's ignorance immediately. His blank look told her that this was not the case. "Woodland spirits," Hermione explained. "They inhabit the Taiga Forest, so they can also be found in Alaska, Canada and Scandinavia, but mostly in Russia. They repel Muggles from their trees but they freely give their woods to wizards if they have a worthy cause for the wood, like making it into wands."

Harry, to his own surprise, found himself listening to Hermione's every word even as he watched the Ieshyi perform a bizarre dance that Harry supposed was meant to represent something. Her capacity for spouting off facts, unchanged since their days at Hogwarts, was unrivalled by anyone else Harry had ever met and it was just one of the many things that he loved about his wife. She was entirely herself and always had been, regardless of what anyone else thought of her. Harry remembered that in the first couple of months after he had first met her, when her vast repertoire of knowledge and her habit of spouting it off in lessons and elevating herself above everyone else, as Harry now realised she deserved, Hermione had annoyed him and Ron quite a lot. She had been a swotty little know-it-all in their eyes, though now this view could not be further from Harry's mind. Hermione's knowledge was something he was intensely proud of her for.

Bagman's voice brought him back, restoring his senses which he had not, until now, realised he had abandoned.

"And now," the commentator declared, "the English team mascots!"

Harry and Hermione joined in the cheering and applause of the England fans as swarm of fairies flew into the formation of an English lion, which they made roar at the Ieshyi, who remained unfazed. Harry could see where this might lead and hoped that they would be able to avoid another battle between the mascots.

"And now," Bagman boomed, "ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Russian National Quidditch Team!"

A chorus of cheers from the Russian fans contrasted sharply with a chorus of booing from the England supporters as seven people flew out onto the pitch, Bagman listing their names as they entered.

"Prezhov, Velastki, Ulyov, Zhedev, Haldvy, Suzdal and... Ivan!"

Harry applauded as the Russian team zoomed past him, performing a lap of the stadium. Seizing his omnioculars and focusing them on the seeker, Ivan, Harry read the words 'Firebolt 3' on his broom, and supposed that the rest of the Russian team would be using these superior brooms as well. Duly impressed, Harry wondered how the English team would counter this threat.

He soon found out.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman declared over the stadium as the Russians continued to cheer their team, "welcome the English National Quidditch Team!"

The cheering and booing was reversed instantly. Now it was the England supporters cheering while the Russians booed as Bagman listed the team members.

"Roberts, Vosper, Wood, Hawksworth, Peterson, Thompson and… Williams!"

Harry and Hermione both cheered loudly with the other England fans as the English team performed a flight manoeuvre similar to Muggle Red Arrows. Turning his omnioculars on the English team, Harry saw that each of them was sat astride a Lightning Bolt broom. Harry knew very little about the new model, other than that it was new and fast. How fast he would soon find out. Turning his omnioculars up towards Oliver Wood, Harry saw that his old captain was looking directly at him and giving him a wide smile.

The teams arranged themselves in a circle several metres off the ground while Heidi Braunwald prepared to open the box in which were kept the four balls of Quidditch: The large, red quaffle, the two black bludgers and the tiny golden snitch. Bagman raised his arms in a messianic gesture.

"Let the match," Bagman said loudly, letting the last word hang, "begin!"

Braunwald opened the box and the four balls flew away, almost immediately followed by the players. Harry watched intently as the Russian chaser, Prezhov, caught hold of the Quaffle and began to speed off towards Wood's goal hoops, but was tackled within seconds by Hawksworth who then turned on the point and flew towards the Russian goal posts.

"A nice tackle there from Hawksworth," Bagman said appreciatively.

Harry now saw that the Lightning was the Firebolt 3's superior, but not by much. The English team would just about hold the edge in this match but if the Russians played well, they would be able to negate the Lightning's superiority. This, Harry knew, would be a close and intense match.

Hawksworth managed to reach the goal posts and had managed to throw the quaffle at one of the hoops. For a moment, Harry thought that Hawksworth would be able to score the first game of the match within seconds. But then the Russian keeper, Zhedev, managed to fly in front of the hoop and deftly catch the red ball before passing it to Suzdal, who managed to get no further than forty feet before a bludger was sent his way by Thompson. Narrowly avoiding the bludger, Suzdal left himself open to a tackle by Vosper, who neatly punched the quaffle out of Suzdal's hand before catching it and once again flying towards the Russian goalposts. Vosper dodged a bludger sent at him by Haldvy and an attempt at a tackle by Velatski before streaking by Zhedev and putting the quaffle through the central hoop. A roar of jubilation came from the England supporters, while a groan emitted from the Russian end. The giant scoreboard changed to read that England now had ten points.

"England score!" Bagman boomed out. "Vosper scores the first goal of the match!"

As Vosper and Hawksworth celebrated the Russian keeper, looking furious with himself, threw the quaffle to Velatski, who streaked off towards the English goal posts. Within moments, he had reached the goal hoops, and would have scored if Wood had not managed to catch the quaffle by the tips of his fingers. Throwing it to Vosper, Wood found himself totally unprepared when Vosper was tackled almost immediately by Prezhov and threw the quaffle hard towards one of the goal hoops. The great, red ball flew through and, as the Russian fans cheered loudly, the scoreboard changed to read 'England: 10, Russia: 10'.

The match continued on with England and Russia almost neck-and-neck. It seemed that, by some law of physics, whenever one team scored the other would score as well before the lead could be reinforced, though there had been plenty of attempts by both sides – Harry felt pleased that Russia had taken more shots than England, and that Wood had saved more goals than the Zhedev. Within half an hour the scoreboard read 'England: 190, Russia: 190'.

"This is certainly a close match so far," Bagman shouted out. "But if someone can catch the snitch…" He let the sentence hang so as to allow the crowd's imaginations to act on the thought. Harry reached for his omnioculars once more and searched, like a falcon hunting a vole, for either one of the seekers. A few seconds later he found Ivan, hovering high above the pitch, his head swivelling in every direction looking for the tiny snitch. Harry turned his omnioculars back downwards, looking for Williams, whom he soon found flying slowly around the edge of the pitch, also hunting for the snitch.

Then, as Harry watched him, he saw Williams' eyes go wide and he stopped flying. Then he leaned forward, just as Harry had done many times on the Quidditch pitch, and sped forward. A blur from somewhere overhead signalled a dive from Ivan, who had obviously seen the snitch as well, or at least had seen Williams streaking across the pitch. Bagman, however, was commentating on the progress of Velatski towards the goal hoops and did not appear to have noticed the seekers.

Harry willed Williams to fly faster than Ivan, whose downward descent had now ceased, and who was flying very close behind the English seeker. Williams, being tailed by Ivan, was now rising in an upward and spiral, and even Bagman had not failed to notice.

"Has Williams seen the snitch?" he cried excitedly.

After reaching a certain altitude Williams dove, a move mimicked by Ivan, and Harry could see clearly what was about to happen.

The Wronski Feint was a Quidditch manoeuvre made famous in the previous World Cup Final by Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, who had used it to great effect against the Irish seeker Aiden Lynch. Harry had been there in the stadium to see Krum's move and had been awed by the simplistic genius of it: Pretend you've seen the snitch, dive, pull up at the last second, let the other seeker crash into the ground. And this, Harry was sure, was what was about to happen.

Sure enough, at the end of the dive, Williams angled his broom sharply upward while Ivan, unable to react fast enough to the sudden change in direction, was sent straight into the pitch, a great spraying of dirt and a sickening crunch accompanying his collision with the ground.

"Ooh, a nice use of the Wronski Feint there by Williams," said Bagman, not even trying to sound anything but appreciative. "Don't worry folks; our specially trained medi-wizards will have him up and about in no time."

As Harry watched a team of three medi-wizards hurried out towards Ivan and proceeded to examine him. One of them drew his wand and tapped Ivan's arm. Through the zoom feature on his omnioculars, Harry saw the bone reposition itself and Ivan's face screw up in pain momentarily before relaxing again and standing. He mounted his broom and sped off again.

"And Ivan's back on his broom and he's off," Bagman observed.

Harry took the omnioculars away from his face and watched as Ivan resumed his hawk-like surveying of the pitch. It was only moments, however, before Ivan was racing downwards. At first, Harry thought that Ivan was attempting his own Wronski Feint but then saw something blur in front of the Russian seeker. Slowing down the omnioculars and pressing the replay button, Harry saw that it was the snitch, and he knew that Ivan had seen it. He willed Williams to see as well, not wanting England to be out this early in the tournament.

But then he saw Williams fly in front of Ivan, blocking him and throwing the Russian's concentration. Ivan stopped instinctively as Williams flew, like an arrow, towards the snitch. Harry watched, open mouthed through his omnioculars, as Williams closed on the tiny ball, his arm outstretched and his face contorted with the sheer adrenaline of it.

And then Williams grasped it, closing his fingers tightly around the small golden orb, its wings struggling for a few seconds and then relenting as Williams, looking jubilant in his triumph, rocketed upwards.

"Williams has the snitch!" Bagman roared, and the cheer of the English fans, Harry's and Hermione's included, far and away drowned out the groans of the Russians. O'Flannery was clapping politely; it was not his nation that was playing. Looking up at the scoreboard, Harry smiled widely to read 'England; 360, Russia: 210'.

"England win!" Bagman declared, earning another massive cheer from the England fans, as well as disappointed silence from the Russians, tens of thousands of people remaining silent in the best imitation of politeness that they could manage; it was all they could do, Harry supposed, not to hurl abuse at the English for winning. That was certainly how he would have been feeling if the roles of the two teams had been reversed.

"That was a fantastic match," Harry said, still beaming as he and Hermione walked away from the stadium, Harry sporting a rosette featuring a roaring lion and a neighing unicorn on it.

"It really was," Hermione agreed, her arm linked with his. "I didn't think I'd enjoy it as much as I did. I only really liked watching Quidditch at Hogwarts when you were playing."

Harry looked at her in pleasant surprise.

"I never knew that," he said, smiling at her.

"Nor did I until recently," Hermione admitted. "I thought I just liked Quidditch. But then I didn't much like watching when Hufflepuff were playing Ravenclaw or something like that. I suppose I should have realised."

Harry planted a kiss on Hermione's crown as they approached the tent. They both ducked inside and went about their nightly routine before going to bed.


	25. The Final

_A/N: A MILLION apologies for how long it's taken me to upload. University has been incredibly taxing on me and I've had barely any time to properly relax and write. However, I now have a few weeks of holiday so I will hopefully be able to upload a LOT more. Thank you so much for your patience and dedication to the story._

**Chapter Twenty Five**

**The Final**

Over the next two weeks England's fortunes only continued to improve. Their early win against Russia's premier team seemed to have bolstered the England team's morale and resolve to win. Over the course of the remainder of the tournament, England beat Rwanda, then Canada, Azerbaijan, Nicaragua, Mongolia and finally Austria to go through to the Cup Final. Who they would face was decided in a match that Harry would only later be able to describe as spectacular. It had been between Slovakia and America and it had been a showcase of everything that Harry loved about Quidditch. Superb flying, expert playing and team tactics, a neck-and-neck score almost throughout all concluded by a nail-biting race to the Snitch between two of the world's best Seekers. It had almost been too much for Harry to bear, and even Hermione, who had never loved Quidditch in quite the same way, had been on the very edge of her seat, her eyes glued to the stadium as the match had been played out before her.

In the end, it had been the Slovakian seeker, Radičová, who had failed in his pursuit of the tiny golden ball, attempting to lean too far forward from his broom and falling from it as a result. Had a Muggle fallen from the height that Radičová had, they would most certainly have died. However, the referee of the match, Hassan Mostafa, had performed a charm to slow the player's descent and he had landed on the ground safely with nothing more than his pride damaged.

This dramatic end to the semi-final had ensured that it would be the American team that England faced when the time for the final came.

"I can imagine the heated conversation at the Burrow," Hermione mused two nights before the date of the final. "John will be in the middle of enemy territory."

Harry laughed.

"Charlie won't know who to cheer," he said. "What would you do if you were him?"

Hermione considered.

"I would be torn between supporting the team of my family and that of my partner," she mused aloud. "I think it would depend on whose opinion I cared more about. If I wanted to avoid a family argument, I'd support England whereas if I wanted to avoid relationship strife, I'd support America. But I don't think Charlie needs to worry about that," she added. "Neither his family nor his partner is quite so petty as to care about who he supports."

The Weasleys and John arrived at around midday on the day of the final, pitching their tents next to Harry and Hermione's. As Harry had predicted, Charlie was torn as to which team he would be supporting, wanting to keep both his family and his partner happy. Harry, however, passed on to him Hermione's words that neither would surely care too much.

As the afternoon wore on, excitement began to mount, and Harry was strongly reminded of the scenes from the hours preceding the last final. Showy displays of magic, merchants wheeling large trolleys piled high with merchandise and large queues of people forming to collect water from the on-site tap were all commonplace and it was all Harry could do not to mentally prepare himself for another Death Eater riot.

As if he had voiced his thoughts, Hermione placed a comforting hand on his own and spoke in a quiet, calming voice.

"I don't think there'll be any Death Eaters this time, Harry." Her words and the feel of her warm hand against his own quietened the alarm in his head, and he felt more at peace.

"I'm sure you're right sweetheart," he said, placing his other hand on top of hers. "I just can't help but be cautious."

However, Harry's fears proved to be unfounded as the day continued on, and by the time the sun was low in the sky even he was able to relax and enjoy the atmosphere of anticipation that pervaded the campsite. The England fans were especially looking forward to the coming match; their team had proved to be nothing but a disappointment for years and now, with an almost entirely fresh team, they had managed to fight their way tooth and claw to the Final of the World Cup. The American fans, by contrast, almost expected victory and so sure of victory were they, and so convinced that the English team would lose to them, that they were already celebrating on their side of the campsite.

A loud whistle followed very shortly by an even louder bang echoed around the site. As one, people turned their heads to look at the source of the noise. Harry rolled his eyes when he saw what it was. A large, magical firework had been sent up by the American fans and now, glittering in the sky, was the date '1776' in red, white and blue.

"Typical," sighed Ron.

"Oh come on," said John, "we haven't got as much history as you guys. We have to make the most of every great date we've got."

Harry saw that the twins were hastily assembling something. It looked to be a firework of their own. He walked over and was quickly waved to the side by George.

"Stand back Harry," he called as he and Fred leapt back from the firework as Fred lit the fuse with his wand. The rocket shot into the air, rising higher than the American one had, and exploded in a shower of yet more red, white and blue as a Union Flag appeared high in the sky, accompanied by the music of 'Rule, Britannia'.

"This is just going to become a competition now, isn't it?" Hermione sighed, smiling despite herself.

"Yeah," the twins admitted together, shrugging. And sure enough, an American firework in the form of an enormous bald eagle flew into the air, gave a deafening screech and flew in circles over their heads.

Over the next few hours the fireworks battle raged, each nation giving patriotic displays until finally it was time for everyone to crowd into the stadium to await the beginning of the match. Harry could only just restrain himself from sprinting towards the stadium, such was his excitement, and just looking at the others he could tell that they were similarly inclined. Even Hermione, the least Quidditch-obsessed of all of them, looked as if she were about to scream with excitement. They contained themselves, however, keeping content with excited conversation as they drew closer to the huge structure that Harry and Hermione had become so familiar with over the last fortnight.

As they took their usual seats in the top box of the stadium, Harry felt a twinge of sadness that this would be the last time he sat in this box watching these matches play out in front of him. For two weeks he had come up here almost every day to watch matches play out, whether England was playing or not. It was from here that he had watched the almost embarrassing defeat of France by Burkina Faso, seen the vampires from Transylvania almost incite a riot with their presence on the pitch as mascots in their country's match against Argentina and looked on with amazement and excitement as the seekers from Hungary and Indonesia had engaged in a brawl at the end of their countries' match over who had caught the snitch.

Harry's musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ludo Bagman and Brian O'Flannery, both of whom shook his and Hermione's hands before taking their seats at the very front of the box. Bagman turned round to talk to the people sat behind him.

"Alright Arthur?" he greeted Mr Weasley, smiling widely as they shook hands. "Nice to see you again."

"Very well, thank you Ludo," Mr Weasley replied, smiling back at his Ministry colleague. "Lovely to see you too. How's everything in Games and Sports?"

"Couldn't be running smoother," Bagman replied, still beaming. "Our friends in the Roinn," and here he indicated O'Flannery, "couldn't be being more helpful." Bagman turned his attention to Charlie. "Charlie Weasley!" he boomed, actually climbing over the seats separating himself from Charlie in order to shake his hand. "How are you, my boy? How are you?"

"Good, thanks," Charlie replied, smiling embarrassedly and Bagman's extremely friendly greeting.

"Excellent, excellent," Bagman said. "Still working with dragons or have you seen the light?"

"Still working with dragons," Charlie replied, and Harry noticed Bagman's face fall. It fell only slightly and only for a moment but fall it did. Bagman quickly recovered himself, however.

"No matter, no matter," he said, releasing Charlie's hand and beginning to turn towards Fred and George, who were both sat with their arms folded and wearing smug grins. "Still plenty of time to change your mind. No bets this time, gents," he said to the twins. "I don't want to be out of pocket again. I learned that lesson last time. The goblins have only just left me alone." His eyes now fell on John, sat on Charlie's other side. "I don't know this one," he said, stating the obvious. "Who are you, my dear chap?"

"John Scott," John replied. Harry saw that Bagman was momentarily taken aback by John's nationality, though once again he quickly recovered himself, resuming his beaming smile.

"Ah, an American. Fraternising with the enemy, eh?" he asked Ginny, who was sat on John's other side.

"I'm not with her," John said, somewhat defensively. "I'm Charlie's-"

"Partner," Charlie concluded, anticipating that John might be at a loss as to how to describe his and Charlie's relationship to a stranger. "Boyfriend, if you like."

Bagman was obviously surprised but he gave no overt sign of displeasure at the news of Charlie's sexuality.

"I hope you're very happy together," he said sincerely before walking along the rows to talk to some new arrivals in the box. Turning, Harry saw that it was Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, who was wearing an engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand.

The advertisements began to glare at Harry once again from across the stadium, but they were by now so familiar to him as to be unworthy of interest. Familiarity had, as the saying went, bred contempt and Harry now found himself almost bored by the gaudy, bright lettering of the advertisements for _Mrs Scour's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover_, _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans _and _The Lightning Bolt Racing Broom_.

"Harry. Hermione."

Harry turned at the sound of his and Hermione's names from behind them, and saw Draco and Astoria standing behind him. It had been Astoria who had spoken their names.

"Hi," Harry said, doing his utmost to sound civil, though he still found it difficult not to immediately dislike Draco. True, it had been months and months since their last meeting, and even longer since there had been any reason for bad blood between them, but old habits die hard and Harry could not entirely shake off his feelings of intense dislike.

"How are you two?" Hermione asked, and then caught sight of the ring on Astoria's finger. "Ooh, how long have you been engaged for?"

"Four months," Draco replied, looking truly happy for the first time since Harry had known him. "And I've got a well-paying job, so I'll be able to look after my wife." As he said this, he put an arm around Astoria's waist and pulled her close to him.

"What is it you do?" Hermione asked, and Harry realised that he had no idea what Draco was doing with his life.

"I'm working for Gringotts," Draco replied. "I'm a curse breaker, working on Stone Age tombs in Skara Brae. Even those primitive wizards could protect their dead with nasty spells and magical traps. It's my job to get rid of these defences so that the bank can take the treasure inside the tombs."

"You know Bill Weasley used to be a curse breaker don't you?" Harry said, nodding in Bill's direction further down the length of the row of the seats. "He could probably share some good stories with you. He worked in Egypt, breaking into pyramids and tombs in the Valley of the Kings."

"Interesting," Draco said, and he sounded as though he was genuinely interested.

"Never knew history was an interest of yours," Hermione said, surprised.

"It was sort of a requirement of being from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, especially one that thought it was even more sacred than all the others. I was taught the family history almost from the moment I could understand what a family was and my interest grew from there."

"Excellent," Hermione said, smiling friendlily at Draco, "although you must have been the only person in our year to take the History of Magic NEWT."

"Yeah, there weren't many of us," Draco admitted.

"What do you do Astoria?" Harry asked, taking an interest in Draco's fiancée.

"I work in Quality Quidditch Supplies," Astoria replied. "Pay's not great but it keeps me occupied."

At that moment, Bagman walked back to the front of the stand as he placed the sonorous charm upon himself, prompting Draco and Astoria to hurry back to their seats as Bagman raised his arms in a great messianic sweep.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Bagman boomed, his voice echoing and reverberating over the stadium. Harry noticed that this time, he deliberately put an extra note of showmanship into his voice, such was the importance of the final to him. "Welcome to the Final of the 423rd Quidditch World Cup!"

A storm of applause and drumming of feet from all sides greeted these words, and Harry feared that the stands might collapse under the strain of it all. They held firm, however, as Bagman continued.

"Here to begin tonight's match is Brian O'Flannery, the Irish Minister for Magic!"

A great tide of applause greeted O'Flannery as well. It seemed to Harry as though the crowd was so highly charged tonight that anything would be greeted with enthusiastic cheering and applauding. O'Flannery placed the sonorous charm upon himself and stepped up beside Bagman.

"Welcome, one and all, to the highly anticipated final of this Quidditch World Cup. The two teams playing against one another tonight have both demonstrated immense skill, daring, talent and iron will to have made it this far." He repeated what he had just said in Irish, though Harry suspected that there were few Irish fans in the audience tonight, Ireland having been knocked out in their quarter-final match against Slovakia. "May the best team win!" The crowd cheered once more as O'Flannery stepped back and Bagman resumed his position.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he cried out, holding up both of his hands as if reaching for the heavens, "I give you our referee for tonight's match. He's flown in all the way from Japan. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a very warm welcome to Tojemitsu Sakabara!"

The crowd cheered as Tojemitsu walked out into the centre of the pitch, mounted and hovered only a few feet of the ground.

"Ladies and gentlemen," cried Bagman once again, "I give you the American team mascot!"

Harry looked over at the American side of the pitch with interest, wondering what magical creatures dwelt in America. The answer came in the form of an immense eagle, easily the size of any species of dragon, which caused a great wind to rush through the stadium with the flapping of its enormous wings as it rose into the air.

"Hermione what kind of eagle is that?" Harry asked, stunned by the animal's sheer size.

"It's a Goliath Great Plains Eagle," Hermione replied, also looking at the bird in awe. "It's got a thirty metre wingspan and a body fifteen metres long. It's the largest bird ever to exist, and it was first bred by Native American wizards about a thousand years ago."

"How do Muggles never notice these things?" Ron asked, having to shout over the noise of the eagle's screeches from down below.

"They never venture far from wizarding populations," Hermione replied, waiting for the eagle to quiet down before resuming speaking. "I heard a rumour that there's one in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, but no one's ever found any proof."

"It'd probably be taller than most of the trees if it was real," Harry laughed in reply.

"And now," boomed Bagman once more, "I give you the English team mascots!"

Wondering how fairies would be able to compete with this truly colossal eagle, Harry was completely surprised when the English team released their mascot.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman said, in a tone that made it sound as though he were letting all and sundry in on a great secret, "it is my great pleasure to tell you that there has been a change in the representation of the England team. So, will you please join me in welcoming the new mascot for the England team!"

Harry stood, so as to better see what would be released. A great wolf bounded forward onto the pitch, letting out a great howl as it did so. While dwarfed by the eagle, it was still enormous, easily far taller than any person.

"Hermione?" Harry prompted.

"It's a dire wolf," Hermione replied, applauding. "And Muggles know about this one, Ron, but they think they're extinct and far smaller than they are."

Ron rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated and amused at what he saw as the foolishness of Muggles. The dire wolf and the eagle stared each other down, until their handlers decided to move them back into their respective lairs.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen" said Bagman, "without further ado, please join me in welcoming the American National Quidditch Team!"

A great roar of applause and cheering from the American side did battle with the boos and jeers of the England fans as seven wizards and witches flew out onto the pitch. Bagman listed off their names with a tone of great excitement and anticipation.

"Muntz, Green, Goldstein, Duvall, Kanyenke, Ruczinski and…. Singleton!"

As the American team performed a lap of honour, red, white and blue streaming along behind them as they flew and the American national anthem playing in the background, Harry remained silent as the two sides of the stadium battled it out once more in a display of vocal chords. The American fans had once more released their 1776 firework.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, welcome the English National Quidditch Team!"

Harry, along with tens of thousands of other England supporters rose and cheered his lungs out as the English team flew on. Bagman was almost drowned out by the sheer volume as he spoke the names of the team that had won the heart of the entire nation.

"Roberts, Vosper, Wood, Hawksworth, Peterson, Thompson and…. Williams!"

The English team flew like Muggle red arrows over the stadium, more red, white and blue streaking along behind them. Harry suspected that if both teams kept this up then the stadium would be invisible through the multi-coloured streaks. But then, quite suddenly, all fell silent as the teams descended to no more than ten feet off the ground. Harry, watching eagerly, waited for Tojemitsu to open the crate of balls, and when he did so, the match was played out in a blur that made it almost too fast to see what was going on. Both teams were on absolute top form and were playing at the very best of their considerable ability. It took no more than fifteen seconds for England to score the first goal, quickly followed by another just seconds later. Seconds after that, however, America scored three consecutively, followed shortly by England's third to remain neck and neck. In just the first five minutes, the match had been played at such a speed that both teams had already scored fourteen goals each. Still, though, there was no sign of the tiny Golden Snitch.

"This is truly phenomenal Quidditch!" Bagman cried as the Quaffle was passed between all six Chasers in seconds, finally ending up in the possession of Vosper, who sped towards the American goal hoops, launching the Quaffle through the left-hand hoop, bringing the score to 150/140 in England's favour.

"Where's the Snitch?" Charlie roared from behind Harry. Seizing the omnioculars that he had kept with hi since the very first match, Harry darted his head around, seeking the tiny ball. After several seconds of fruitless searching, he saw a gleam out of the corner of the lenses, and saw that the Snitch was hovering no more than a foot off the ground at the base of the American goal hoops. Quickly looking up to find which Seeker was nearer, Harry saw with delight that it was Williams, and willed him to look down at the foot of the massive goal hoops. As if his thoughts had been shouted inside Williams' head, the Seeker looked down at the ground, his eyes roving beneath him until he saw the tiny fluttering ball darting around many feet below him. Turning his broom into an almost vertical dive, Williams all but fell through the air, his hair and robes rushing upward as he descended steeply. Above him, Singleton was hot on his tail, mere inches behind. The two Seekers drew neck and neck, their arms outstretched.

And then the Snitch darted upwards. Both Seekers crashed into the ground in a spray of mud and blood. Mediwizards hurried forward to repair any damage but the Snitch had been lost.

"Fuck!" shouted Charlie from behind Harry. "Sorry dad," Charlie added, waving an apologetic hand towards his father. "But damn that's annoying."

The match continued on for a further hour, neither side managing to gain a great advantage over the other. Eventually, the scores read England: 510, USA: 500. The lead would mean nothing, however, if it was not Williams who caught the Snitch. Harry could see both Seekers looking around for it urgently, as was he. For several minutes, neither Seeker moved.

But then, Harry saw Singleton soar across the pitch, heading towards the stands behind the English goal hoops. Harry's head swivelled to look at Williams and saw that he was doing the same thing but from a slightly further distance. Praying that Williams would be able to close the gap, Harry and the hundreds of thousands others watched as the two Seekers raced towards the goal hoops. Everyone could see the Snitch now, flitting about six feet above Oliver Wood's head. The Seekers began to knock into one another as they flew, each trying to dismount the other, though neither was successful.

And then, Williams spurred his broom forward. Dismay showed on Singleton's face as Williams closed his hand around the tiny ball and the England fans erupted with delight. Harry turned his face towards the scoreboards, surprised but unashamed to find tears of joy in his eyes. It now read England: 660, USA: 500. He watched as the English team rushed to hug their Seeker, lifting him onto their shoulders as they dismounted and paraded across the stadium, pre-prepared confetti raining down on them from all sides as they received the adoration of their fans. O'Flannery and Bagman quickly descended the stairs leading up to the top box and strode out to meet the victorious team. O'Flannery drew his wand and conjured from nowhere the trophy, a golden globe perched atop a broomstick. He handed it to Williams, who lifted it high above his head.


	26. The Wrong Man

_A/N: I hope you all had a very merry Christmas. In this chapter I'm experimenting with a story within a story. This chapter, therefore, will be told almost entirely as if it were from Sirius' autobiography, mentioned briefly in previous chapters. Next chapter we'll be back to normal, but I just wanted to do this little experiment. As always, read, review and enjoy. _

**Chapter Twenty Six**

**The Wrong Man**

In the days and weeks following England's triumph in the World Cup the country was in a state of high euphoria, with parties being thrown seemingly every other day and the good weather holding for the duration of the celebrations. Quidditch-mania was on an all-time high, as Astoria Greengrass relayed to Harry when he chanced to visit Quality Quidditch Supplied to browse for a new broom, having been thoroughly impressed with the new models displayed throughout the World Cup.

"Sales are through the roof," Astoria had told him excitedly as he had sidled up to the counter, money bag in hand. "I'm not at all surprised, of course. They were higher than normal from the very first match but now that we won…"

She left the sentence unfinished as she fetched Harry his new Lightning Bolt broomstick from the windowsill where it had been displayed for all to see. The small gaggle of children who had been staring at it in awe let out a single, simultaneous groan of disappointment as Astoria picked up the broom and carried it over to Harry. Though, when they realised who had bought the broom, their attention was diverted immediately. Harry hurried on, leaving them to question each other as to whether or not 'was that really Harry Potter?'

Arriving home, Harry decided that he would show the Lightning Bolt to Sirius. He went into the living room expecting Sirius to be there, and even if he was not then to find someone who could tell him where his godfather was.

Sirius, it transpired, was not in the living room. However, Harry did see a photograph of him. It was the photograph that had been released by the Ministry in the wake of his escape from Azkaban all those years ago. Sirius, hair matted, face lined and chest tattooed, screaming silently at the camera. Harry walked over to the photograph and saw that it made up the front of cover of Sirius' autobiography, _The Wrong Man_, which Dobby had given him for Christmas and that he had subsequently completely forgotten about. Who had been reading it and why did not concern him, and nor did showing Sirius the Lightning Bolt. Almost subconsciously, he picked up the book, sat on the nearest chair, opened the book at a random page and began to read.

_The nights were always the worst. Even before the end of one month inside Azkaban I had come to dread the long and utterly sleepless hours. Alone in my freezing cell, with the Dementors constantly hovering outside it, I would simply lie there and try to ignore the shadows and the sounds and the chronologically unreliable gulfs of silence that drew out in between each scream, yell and bang. Night after night after night I would lie there on the wooden beam that stood in for a bed and stare blankly up at the dripping granite ceiling of my cell, trying desperately to find sleep or some acceptable substitute. If you have wondered why most of the prisoners of Azkaban go mad, I will tell you. It's not the Dementors that do it, at least not directly. It's the sleeplessness. The Dementors' breath and the effect of their presence alone keep you awake all night. And even if they did not, the other inmates would. Gut-rending shrieks that send shivers up your spine as grown men cry out for their mothers, or else the senseless babbling of the ones whose minds have disappeared entirely. _

_Sometimes, of course, I would actually start to drift off, floating away in that wonderful sensation one gets before giving in to the bliss of sleep. I would lie back and let the heaviness of my own fatigue cover me like a blanket, superseding anxiety and fear. Nowadays I treasure sleep. Every time I go to sleep I experience something that for so long I was unable to find in Azkaban. But in those days, I would start to fall asleep only to be wrenched back to consciousness, heart pounding and throat tightening, by some shout or cry; some inhuman scream from deep within the bowels of the fortress. I would catch my breath and feel a chill tighten the skin of my shoulders, arms and back, crawling over my skin millimetre by millimetre like some fell centipede, making the hairs on the nape of my neck bristle unpleasantly. An inmate would be having a nightmare, or else surrendering to the waking nightmare that Azkaban was back then. On one occasion, a scream was followed by a second wail, weaker than the first. I told myself that it was just another nightmare rolling out of the all-night nightmare emporium. But I remember that wail perfectly, even now more than ten years later. And it hadn't sounded like a nightmare. It sounded as though some inmate or other was under attack. I realise now, of course, that he was being subjected to the Dementor's Kiss._

_The Kiss is a terrible thing. I have seen it administered many times, and the memory of each has remained with me and haunts me to this day. The Dementor begins by lowering its hood. This alone is enough to induce in me nightmares even now. The flesh of a Dementor is grey in colour, rotting, wet from the result of the necrosis and disgusting to look upon. There are no eyes, no nose and no lips. Just a mouth. Or rather a black hole where a mouth ought to be. The Dementor will then grab its victim firmly about the head and clamp its mouth over theirs. Do not be fooled by the name, this is nothing pleasant. Indeed it is a fate worse than death. The Dementor proceeds to suck. It sucks out good feelings, happy memories, every ounce of hope and light that a person possesses, until eventually only their soul remains. But the Dementor does not stop there. It goes on sucking, removing the victim's soul and leaving them in a vegetative state, barely alive. And certainly in no state to lead life of any sort. Most victims of the Dementor's Kiss die of thirst._

_I hear it has all changed now, and I am thankful. No one – not the worst inhabitant of Hell or the most evil person there ever was – deserves the Dementors. _

_There was never a shortage of nightmares in Azkaban. We were little more than food for the Dementors, to be devoured over years and years. They would rob of us of our hopes of release and replace those emotions with our very worst memories. And it was endless. For twelve years I heard my worst memory repeated inside my head, over and over and over and over and over again. I will not tell you what it is. That knowledge will die with me._

_I had no idea how many prisoners there were in Azkaban when I arrived. You must remember, this was in the wake of Lord Voldemort's defeat. The prison had never seen an influx of prisoners like it. I guess, however, that there were maybe five-hundred. The Aurors would frequently bring people in during my first two years, mostly Death Eater remnant. Sometimes they would come in with just one person, but other times there would be ten or so new inmates, something which always made the Dementors excited. And that was when they were at their worst. It was the same as when a death was coming. The Dementors got excited and it affected the rest of us in the form of heightened nightmares. We prisoners were never allowed contact with one another. That only added to the Hell of it. It will make you shudder, I daresay, to think that I went without human contact of any sort for twelve years. From my incarceration to my escape I spoke to just one person, and that was then-Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge while he was inspecting the prison about two weeks before my famous escape. I'm still rather proud of that._

_I would often simply sit on the floor of my cell – which was, I do not exaggerate, more comfortable than the wooden bunk – and stare through the bars at the empty corridor. Frequently I would see the Death Eater Augustus Rookwood across from me, grinning inanely at me through the bars of his cell, or else sleeping or perhaps feigning it. It was always the Death Eaters who had the easiest time in Azkaban. They were darker and crueller than the Dementors, and I don't recall that a single one of them ever went mad in there. Though that may have been because they were already. Anyway, I would sit there, watching Rookwood in stony silence, listening to the terrible sounds around me. And of course, there was the sea. I could always hear the sea, and eventually it became as familiar to me as my own pulse. I tell you now that when, after I escaped, I got far enough inland so that I could no longer hear it, I felt as though I had left something behind in the fortress. _

_You will want to know, I do not doubt, how I avoided the madness so common inside Azkaban. I will tell you now that it will not shock, though it might impress. But first you must understand something fundamental and little-known about Dementors. They only affect humans. You will, I'm sure, be wondering what that has to do with me. I'm a human just as any of you (probably) are. But I tell you that I am not quite as human as you. I am an animagus. So, whenever the effect of the Dementors was becoming too much for me, I would change form – a dog in my case – and wait until I felt better. The Dementors are blind. They had no idea what I was doing. And I was saved by something else too, my indomitable shield against those demonic guards._

_I was innocent. And the knowledge of my innocence was something that not even the Dementors could rob me of, though they had stolen from me so much._

_In my past life, before Azkaban, I had had many great friends, chiefly James and Lily Potter, may they rest in peace._

Harry felt a lump in his throat at seeing his parents' names written in black and white before him, put there by a man who had known them infinitely better than he ever would. He read on.

_Lily Potter, before her untimely demise at the hands of Lord Voldemort, was one of the world's best and unrecognised breakfast chefs, and I would frequently visit the Potters for breakfast._

"_A good meal at the beginning of the day is essential," James would often say to me while cutting one of Lily's excellent sausages. "You never know if it'll be your last these days."_

_But inside Azkaban, breakfast – or indeed any meal – was barely ever even edible, and sometimes seemed to shimmer and move as though still alive on the plate when placed on the floor of my cell by the Dementors. It tended to be nothing more than a mass of colourless gruel, the whole thing looking as though it were the Dementors' own shit. Some of the inmates would shovel it down with disturbing gusto, but I could only ever manage it if I was absolutely starving. As in on-the-brink-of-death starving. There was one occasion when, upon discerning that I wasn't going to touch my breakfast, Rookwood caught my attention._

"_Psst," he whispered to me across the corridor, "Black. Are you going to eat that?"_

_I slid him the plate, silently welcoming him to eat his fill as I did so. I watched as he demolished the food with alarming speed and thought to myself that he was a desperate man. And it was that thought, that determination that I would not end up like that, that spurred my plans for escape._

_I planned my breakout for a month prior to carrying it out, ever since I had discovered that Peter Pettigrew, who crimes I had been framed for, was still alive and living as the pet – for he was an animagus too – of a student at Hogwarts. I had lost an extreme amount of weight during my twelve-year stint and I planned to slip through the bars of my cell. But then, of course, I realised that the Dementors would sense a human outside a cell and attack me en masse. I would not have a chance even against one. They had taken my wand from me when I had been imprisoned, and I am not able to perform wandless magic, and so I would have needed my wand to conjure a patronus, the only defence against a Dementor. _

_But then the answer came to me. I would transform into a dog, slip through the bars undetected by the Dementors, who would think that I had died without their knowledge, retrieve my wand from where I knew it was kept, swim across the sea, still in dog form and arrive on the Northumbria coast sodden and frozen to the bone but a free man. And that, I was surprised to find in the summer of 1993, is exactly how it happened. It is commonly said, usually by fiction writers and by people whose plans have never worked out the way they wanted, that no plan ever goes off according to how it was conceived. But I tell you that mine did. Perfectly and without a hitch. Avoiding the manhunt organised by the Ministry in the days following my release, and not repealed until I proved my innocence nearly three years later, was easy. I spent much of my time away from wizarding populations, and when I had to come into contact with people likely to recognise me I would transform into a dog. _

_I went first to the neighbourhood of my godson, the world famous Harry Potter. I had failed in my obligation to his parents that I would look after and protect him, something that I have been trying to make up for ever since. However, our first meeting in twelve years did not transpire as I had expected. Quite what I had expected I still have no idea; the first few months after my escape seem as though I was living a dream. Suffice it to say that Harry left that briefest of meetings with the impression that I was a great wolf intent on preying on him. Not the sort of impression a godfather wants to make._

_I travelled north from Surrey in dog form, crossing the border from England to Scotland on the 23__rd__ of August, ensuring that I was a week ahead of the start of the new Hogwarts term. I had managed to learn from hearsay that the Dementors had been given the task of guarding the school and I wanted to beat them there. I succeeded, but only by a few days. I hid out in the mountains and caves surrounding Hogwarts for the next few months. It wasn't comfortable but it was safe, and it kept me out of the clutches of the Dementors. _

_I was spotted a couple of times, however. And for the next couple of weeks after each sighting I kept an especially low profile. Famously, I attempted to break into Hogwarts on the night of the 31__st__. I had forgotten, however, that I needed a password to get into Gryffindor Tower and, in my rage at being so close and yet so far, I ripped through the old portrait of the Fat Lady. And then I fled. I have been informed since that my actions that night caused the entire school to sleep in the Hogwarts Great Hall, which I struggle to link an emotion to. On the one hand, I'm sorry that the school spent an uncomfortable night in an uncomfortable room. On the other, however, I do think that's bloody funny._

_I was successful, however, just a few weeks later. In the wake of my attack on the Fat Lady, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had installed a new guardian of the Gryffindor, a portrait of King Arthur's most useless knight Sir Cadogan. I also happened to chance across a piece of parchment on which all of the knight's passwords had been written. By simply rattling them off, I gained entrance to the tower. Once again, however, I was unsuccessful in gaining my vengeance on Peter Pettigrew. I accidentally awoke the young Ron Weasley (to learn who he is collect his chocolate frog card),…_

Harry chuckled slightly at the slight mention of Ron and the fact that Sirius had noted that Harry, Ron and Hermione had all been given chocolate frog cards.

…_however, and I was forced to flee as quickly as all four of my dog's legs would carry me. It would be months before I would try again._


	27. The Inquiry

_A/N: A thousand, thousand, thousand apologies for having taken so long to update. Seriously, I'm ashamed with how long it has taken me to update. Life has just been unrelenting for this whole year. I beg your understanding and forgiveness. Anyway, on we go. Please read, review and enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

**The Inquiry**

The revelation of what Sirius had been through in Azkaban remained with Harry, and while he managed to push it to the back of his mind in the days and weeks following his reading of the few pages of the autobiography he had chanced across, he would still sometimes imagine the shrieks and the chill on his godfather's skin.

Other matters too played on Harry's mind, however. He was constantly being asked to provide evidence for the Ministry's inquiry into how Armitage Wenlock had handled Operation: Horntail and the reasons for its failure and his own capture by the Death Eaters. Since his return, Harry had asked Ron who had organised the mission to rescue him.

"Kingsley authorised it," Ron replied, "but I organised it and I led it."

Harry had been very impressed, and even more so when he had learned of how quickly Ron had been able to come to his rescue after the funeral of Fletcher and Castle. He had been even more impressed with how Ron had thought to locate him.

"The deluminator comes in handy again," he had said, with mock grandiosity, when Ron had told him of the role that the small, silver device had played in the operation.

"When's the first hearing of the Inquiry?" Ron had asked. And then, before Harry could give an answer, "Do you think they'll want me to give evidence?"

"Firstly," Harry replied, "it's on Saturday, and secondly yes I think you probably will. You were, after all, one of those who fought in it and you led the rescue mission."

"Fair enough," Ron conceded, clearly resigning himself to having to speak against Wenlock. "What do you think will happen to Armitage?"

"I hope he's sacked," Hermione said, completely unsympathetically, as she entered the room.

"That's a bit harsh, Hermione," Ron replied. "He made a mistake, that's all. He's not the first Head of the Auror Office to make one, and he won't be the last either."

"I'm with Ron on this one sweetheart," Harry said, looking almost apologetically at his wife as he said the words. "I signed up for this job knowing the possible consequences. It's not entirely Armitage's fault that things went wrong."

Hermione bristled at the opposition that she was facing, but pressed her point nonetheless.

"He got two of his people killed and Harry was captured," she argued. "Why was it only your group attacking the house? He had every Auror surrounding the place, why didn't you overwhelm them with numbers?"

"I suppose that'll be something that the Inquiry will want to look into," Ron answered. "I can't see this ending well for Wenlock, though, no matter what happens," he added gravely. "If he doesn't lose his job he'll be treading on thin ice, and one more mistake will end his career for good."

The morning of the first hearing came all too quickly for Harry's liking, who did not like revisiting the events that had surrounded Operation Horntail. Waking up at seven, he dressed, shook Hermione awake, and kissed her before leaving.

"I love you," he told her at the door. "And our baby."

Hermione sleepily smiled and almost absent-mindedly moved her hand over her belly.

"Love you too," she murmured as sleep overtook her once more.

Harry smiled before departing, apparating directly from the house and into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Though he saw it every day, the atrium had only looked more forbidding and imposing on those occasions that he had entered it during his fifth year at Hogwarts, and when he, Ron and Hermione had broken into the place in order to steal the locket of Salazar Slytherin from, literally, under Dolores Umbridge's nose. Today, there seemed to be a great urgency about the place. Hundreds of Ministry workers all hurried hither and thither, appearing in many glares of emerald from fireplaces, dispatching and receiving flying paper memos and all were talking of one topic: Wenlock's hearing. Two witches whose robes marked them as employees of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were discussing their predictions for the Inquiry's ruling. Harry strode past them and caught a snatch of their conversation.

"I reckon he'll get the sack immediately Margaret."

"I hope not. He's not to blame."

Harry continued on, not breaking stride, to the lifts at the other side of the cavernous room. When he reached them he got into a waiting one immediately, which shot up the instant he pressed the corresponding button. The Inquiry was being held in the Auror Office's own courtroom, rather than in the old courtrooms by the Department of Mysteries, for which Harry was glad. He had had enough of those dark cells for a lifetime and would be very happy, he knew, if he never set eyes on them again.

"Auror Office," the cool female voice that presided over all Ministry of Magic lifts announced as the doors in front of Harry slid open. He existed swiftly and saw, standing by the door to the courtroom, Ron waiting for him.

"They're just about to start," Ron told Harry as he drew near, and the two of them slipped quietly into the room, unseen but by all those sat closest to the door. Harry took in the scene. He and Ron had entered at the top of the room, while below them ranged tiered seating arranged in a semi-circle, similar to a Greek theatre or Roman arena, of which Harry had seen photographs and illustrations in some of Hermione's books. At the base of the seats stood what looked like a church lectern and beside that, on a raised platform, was a chair so grandiose that Harry would have described it as a throne. On it was sat Kingsley Shacklebolt; clearly this was a matter important enough for the Minister to preside over it in person. On two lower pedestals on either side of Kingsley, in chairs that were slightly less grand, sat Edgar Goodson, the Acting Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Ruth Sapper, Wenlock's successor as Acting Head of the Auror Office.

"Let us begin," Kingsley said, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. "I call Armitage Wenlock to speak."

Harry looked down at the lowest tier of seats and saw Wenlock rise, looking determinedly resolute as he strode toward the lectern. Harry noticed that he carried himself with the air of a man who believed, totally, in himself. His head was held high and his posture was proud.

"Mr Wenlock," Kingsley said, "before this hearing began I personally administered to you a dose of veritaserum. Tell me, do you know why you have been summoned here today?"

"I do, Minister, Wenlock replied, his tone completely flat. "I, and all of us in this room, are here as part of the on-going Ministry inquiry into the execution of Operation Horntail six weeks ago."

"We will proceed as quickly as possible," Kingsley announced, riffling through a sheaf of parchments on the desk which stood in front of him. "Who devised the strategy that would be used in Operation Horntail, Mr Wenlock?"

"I did," Wenlock replied, "along with a select committee of certain other high-ranking figures in the Auror Office."

"Could you name these people please?"

"I was aided in the devising of the plan by Cicero DeLancey, Othellan O'Felan and Gerinald Thompson, all three of whom are also present in this room."

Kingsley made a note of Wenlock's words before pressing on with his questioning.

"Who was it who proposed the use of a small strike team to assault the Death Eater's stronghold?"

"Thompson. It was his suggestion that Potter lead a small attack. I and DeLancey agreed that if the Death Eaters saw a large force approaching them they would simply disapparate and we would lose our chance to apprehend them. O'Felan was unconvinced and argued that the Aurors should attack the house en masse, but was outvoted."

Kingsley scribbled something else onto his parchment before thanking Wenlock and bidding him sit back down.

"Next, I call Harry Potter," he called out. Harry, feeling slightly nervous, made his way down from the back of the room and took his place at the lectern at which Wenlock had just been stood. "Mr Potter," Kingsley addressed him directly for the first time in this hearing, "you have not been given a dose of veritaserum. However, I personally vouch for your honesty and integrity."

"Thank you Minister," Harry said, knowing that he ought to feel touched at Kingsley's show of confidence. But he could not set aside his feelings of mingled nervousness, guilt and anger that he felt at being asked to testify at what was, essentially, Wenlock's trial.

"Tell me, Mr Potter," Kingsley began, "what was your experience of the operation?"

Harry recounted the story, beginning with the sighting of the black owl and the letter that it had brought him. He told the room about the meeting that he, as well as all of his colleagues in the Auror Office, had been asked to attend, at which Wenlock had outlined the situation and had issued them all with their orders. He retold of the events immediately preceding the attack on the Riddle House and of the charge itself. He watched the assembled Ministry members flinch and tense at his descriptions of the spells raining down on them from all sides, of the desperation that he and, he assumed, all of his fellows had felt, his rage at the deaths of Fletcher and Castle and finally his own feeling of helplessness when he himself had been taken captive by the Death Eaters. By the time he had finished, an eerie silence had descended on the room.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Kingsley said, and Harry was surprised to see that even he looked shaken, despite the many years he himself had spent as an Auror. "No further questions."

Harry got to his feet and walked back toward his seat as Kingsley called Ron forward. He exchanged a look with Harry as they passed each other, and Harry sat down as Ron stood up to the lectern.

"Mr Weasley, you have also not been administered with veritaserum. However, I also vouch for you personally."

"Thanks Minister," Ron replied, looking slightly lost in front of a hundred Ministry officials. He looked slightly pale and his mouth hung slightly open as he tried to make his voice sound confident and assured.

"Mr Weasley, tell us how you discovered the location of Mr Potter and the Death Eaters."

"Well, Minister," said Ron, the words obviously difficult for him to utter, "it was the deluminator."

"Could you please elaborate?"

"Oh. Yes… um… sorry. Well, I've got this deluminator – Dumbledore gave it to me – and I discovered last year that it would help me find people."

"How did you discover this?" Kingsley asked. Harry could tell that he was both perplexed and genuinely curious, and silently willed Ron to put his story into a more coherent form.

"Um… well it was during the war, Minister. Harry, Hermione and I were looking for You-Know-Who's horcruxes."

"His what?" interjected a witch in the front row.

"We are not here to discuss horcruxes, Madam Pennyworth," Kingsley replied before Ron could launch into a ramble about horcruxes. "If you are curious about them, look them up in your own time. Please, Mr Weasley, continue."

And Ron retold the story of how he had found Harry and Hermione in the middle of the Forest of Dean by following the feelings implanted into him by the ball of light that had left the deluminator at Hermione's mention of his name on that fateful Christmas Day.

"I figured that if I asked the deluminator for help then it would give me that help. So I held it, asked for its help, and another ball of light left it, entered me and sort of told me where Harry was."

"And what did you do once you had discovered that information?" Kingsley asked.

"I came straight to your office, Minister. You authorised the mission to rescue Harry at once, I took a hand-picked team of Aurors and we managed to not only bring Harry back safe and alive, but also arrest the Death Eaters as well."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Kingsley said as Ron finished his testimony. "You may sit back down now."

Ron gratefully left the lectern and took his seat next to Harry once more. Neither of them said a word, instead both focusing on Kingsley as he made his closing statement.

"Mr Wenlock," he said in a carrying voice so that all would hear him, "I have decided that you are to be removed from your position as Acting Head of the Auror Office on a permanent basis. You will, however, continue to be employed by the Office in a more junior capacity. Do you understand."

"Yes, Minister," Wenlock replied in the same flat tone that he had spoken in while at the lectern.

"Then we are adjourned," Kingsley said, rising to his feet and sweeping from the room. Harry and Ron, too, left the room as quickly as possible while the other Ministry officials went about gathering up their belongings. Wenlock merely sat there, looking stunned.

"Well, that's that," Harry said to Ron as they arrived back in the atrium. "How are you feeling? That clearly wasn't easy for you."

"I'm immensely glad that it's over," Ron replied. "Who do you think they'll get to be Head of Department now?"

Harry had to confess that he had all too good an idea who Kingsley would ask to become the new Head of the Auror Office, and he did not relish the thought one little bit.


	28. A Happy Life

_A/N: I'd like to apologise for the great spans of time between chapters. I intend to update with far more regularity than I actually do and I'm sorry. But if I may offer an explanation, since the last chapter was uploaded I have become the daddy of a wonderful little baby boy. As any of you who are parents will know, this leaves me with far less time than I have had previously. However, this story is still important to me and I intend to see it through to its conclusion, whenever that may be. I thank you all for your patience, your understanding and your kind reviews. You all make writing this a pleasure._

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

**A Happy Life**

It was a week before everyone found out who the new Acting Head of the Auror Office would be, and nobody was surprised. One morning, while sat at the dining table eating a delicious breakfast of sausages, bacon, egg, baked beans and buttered toast, Harry saw, through the window, a Ministry owl approaching the house. Groaning inwardly, he continued to eat his breakfast even as the bird rapped its talons on the glass, asking to be let in. After a few moments Harry obliged the creature, which hopped onto the windowsill and extended its right leg. Harry untied the scroll that was attached to the proffered limb, tipped the bird a single, small bronze knut, and returned to his breakfast as the owl took flight once more.

Harry unfurled the scroll and read.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Following the recent dismissal of Armitage Wenlock from the post of Acting Head of the Auror Office, it is the decision of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic and Order of Merlin, First Class, that you are to be appointed to the aforementioned post as Mr Wenlock's replacement. The Minister is confident that given your extraordinary history of fighting the Dark Arts and those who practice them, you are the ideal candidate to take up the position._

_Wishing you well,_

_Valentinius Mucker, Assistant to the Office of the Minister for Magic_

Harry bit back the urge to shout out a loud profanity, instead contenting himself with slamming the letter down on the wood of the table and eating in a way that anyone would have described as passive-aggressive. As he did so, Hermione walked into the kitchen. Immediately reading his mood, she sat next to him and gently placed her hand on top of his.

"What is it?" she asked in a gentle, soothing voice. Rather than speak, mostly due to the large quantity of bacon in his mouth, Harry handed her the letter. Hermione read it through twice, set it back down on the wood top of the table and looked at her husband with sympathy in her eyes. "You could always resign," she suggested. "Or ask Kingsley to consider someone else."

"I suppose," Harry said half-heartedly, stabbing another piece of bacon with his fork. "But he's right. It might sound arrogant of me but there really is no one better."

"That's not arrogant at all," Hermione assured him. "How many other people in the Auror Office killed Voldemort?"

She made a good point, Harry had to admit, but he still had grave reservations about accepting the post.

"I'm not doing it," he said after a long few moments of silence. "I'm going to hand in my notice. Someone else can be the Office Head."

Hermione looked slightly taken aback at the speed with which Harry had made this momentous decision.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely," Harry concluded, with audible finality. "I'm going to send Kingsley an owl the moment I've finished eating. And then, I think I'm going to send one to Dumbledore."

"Why to Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, but Harry only tapped his nose as he continued eating. She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated half-smile. "You and your schemes," she said affectionately, kissing him on the cheek. Harry smiled and gently, almost without thinking, rested his hand on the small bump that was just beginning to show beneath her clothes.

"They're really growing in there," Harry said in wonderment. He and Hermione had decided very early on in her pregnancy that they would avoid calling their baby an 'it', and instead always referred to the baby as 'they'.

"Of course they are," replied Hermione, smiling at him and placing her hand atop his. "And it shouldn't be too long until I can feel them move."

Harry smiled widely at her words, leant down and planted a small kiss on her bump, whispering afterwards,

"Daddy's here."

He and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, smiled and kissed. It was long and loving, and Harry could easily have stayed like that forever. Eventually, however, they broke apart, and Harry stood up from the table. Waving his wand, his plate and cutlery flew over to the bin, scraped what food he had not eaten into it, made their own way to the sink and began to wash themselves. As they did so, Harry made his way upstairs.

He returned shortly afterwards to find Hermione rubbing her bump and whispering softly.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked as he came and sat next to her.

"Yes, fine," Hermione replied. "Brilliant, actually." She took Harry's hand and rested it back where it had been minutes earlier. "Feel that?"

"No," Harry confessed.

"I suppose they're still probably too small for you to feel them move," Hermione replied, sounding slightly disappointed, "but believe me, they're moving away in there."

Harry was awed. He had never before felt the motions that now flooded through him, and he was struggling to comprehend that Hermione could feel the tiny life that was even now growing inside her. He wondered what sensations she was experiencing, and knew that whatever emotions he was feeling they would pale in comparison to what Hermione was thinking and feeling. After a few seconds Harry moved his hand away and stood up.

"I need to get going Mione," he said with sadness, "I need to get to work and tell Kingsley that I resign. I'll be home around the usual time."

"Alright," Hermione said, also looking sad that their moment with their baby had come to an end. "Don't forget, we're having everyone over tonight."

Harry had, in fact, clean forgotten, but he did not tell Hermione that. Instead he acknowledged her words, assured her he would not forget, kissed her and then apparated away, leaving Hermione sat in the room alone. Suddenly realising how hungry she was, she began to prepare her own breakfast.

She was washing her breakfast dishes when Sirius entered the dining room. He gave her a smile when he saw her.

"Morning Hermione," he greeted her.

"Morning Sirius," she replied. "You've just missed Harry."

"That's alright," Sirius replied casually. "I live with him; I see him all that time. Actually, while I'm on that, when are you two moving out?"

Hermione felt hurt and shocked at Sirius' words, and it must have shown on her face because he quickly remedied the situation.

"I'm not trying to throw you out. I don't want you gone. But soon there'll be four of us, and I think you and Harry should have your own place."

"Yes, Harry and I have been discussing it," Hermione said, sitting down next to Sirius. "We don't want to be too far away but we want to be far away enough that we can be on our own when we need to be."

Sirius nodded his agreement, summoned the day's copy of the Daily Prophet to him and together they began looking through the property listings.

Arriving at the Ministry, Harry felt a great sense of trepidation. Resigning from the Auror Office was not something that he had ever imagined he would find himself doing, certainly not during those last few years at Hogwarts when becoming an Auror had been what he had been convinced was what he wanted to do with his life. It seemed strange to him now to think that a disguised Death Eater had been the first person to propose the idea to him, but somehow it had taken root deep within his psyche and had never shifted until recently. Perhaps, thought Harry, this was long overdue, a wake-up call for him and a signal that his fate was not to continue to hunt and defeat dark wizards and witches. It seemed as though some great, other-worldly power was telling him that he had played his part already, and that now he was deserving of a calmer, more relaxed life. A quiet life. A normal life.

Walking quickly lest he lose his nerve or change his mind, Harry entered the lift and ordered it to take him up to the Minister's Office. After a few seconds of effortless gliding the lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Harry stepped out. Behind him the lift descended once again but Harry neither saw nor cared. His only focus was on speaking to Kingsley.

He reached Kingsley's office door and knocked. There was but the briefest of pauses before, from inside the room, Harry heard Kingsley usher him in.

"Harry," Kingsley said, both surprised and pleased to see him. "How can I help you?"

"Minister," Harry began, "I got your owl this morning." He cleared his throat. "I don't want to be the Head of the Auror Office. I'm very grateful for the offer, but I think it's time I resigned. I've done enough to keep dark wizards at bay, I feel, and if I might Minister I believe my turn for a normal life has come. I never want what happened after Operation Horntail to happen again, and I feel that the best way of ensuring that is to step down. I hope you understand."

Kingsley sat in stunned silence for a moment before speaking.

"Of course I understand, Harry. I'm just a little shocked. I always thought that being an Auror was what you wanted in life, certainly for as long as I've known you."

"And it was, Minister," Harry concurred. "But getting captured was an experience I hope never to repeat, especially not with Hermione worrying at home and our baby on the way."

"Well Harry," Kingsley said sadly, as he offered his hand for Harry to shake, "I wish you the very best of luck and we'll all greatly miss you."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry replied, shaking the hand.

"Just one question, what are you going to do for employment?"

Harry smiled to himself.

"Oh, I have something lined up. Goodbye Minister. I'll just go and clear my desk."

Kingsley stood up, walked over to the door and opened it. As Harry left, Kingsley clapped him on the back and smiled warmly. Harry smiled back. It was nice to know there would be no friction between the two of them afterwards.

Immediately going down to the Auror Office, Harry was at his desk when Ron arrived at nine o'clock. Upon seeing Harry packing all of his belongings into a bag Ron looked quizzically at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I resigned," Harry replied simply. "I don't want to be an Auror anymore. I'm gone."

Ron looked taken aback.

"Alright, why?"

"I don't want to leave Hermione like that again," Harry explained, stopping his packing to look at Ron. He deserved that at the very least. "And I certainly don't want to leave our baby. Don't look so depressed Ron. Kingsley might ask you to be the new Office Head."

"I bloody hope not," Ron laughed. "I don't want that kind of responsibility."

There was a pause while both of them shared in the joke. An unspoken understanding passed between them; Harry was leaving for familial reasons and Ron had nothing to reproach himself for. Harry's decision did not in any way reflect any negative feeling that he had for his friend. They embraced, as good as brothers.

"You and Luna still on for tonight?" Harry asked as he finished packing.

"Fuck," Ron swore. "Completely forgot, sorry."

"That's alright," Harry replied, before confiding, "so did I. See you tonight then."

"Yeah," Ron said as he waved Harry out, "see you."

Harry arrived home to find Hermione and Sirius reading through the Daily Prophet at the dining room table.

"What's this conspiracy?" he asked as he put his box of office detritus down on the floor near the front door and walked in to join them.

"We're looking for houses," Sirius replied as Harry and Hermione kissed. "And I'll pretend that didn't happen if it's all the same to you."

"Suit yourself," Harry replied, kissing Hermione again. Sirius groaned audibly.

"I walked into that one didn't I?"

They spent the next two and a half hours reading through the property listings in the _Prophet_, and between the three of them they found a number of likely candidates, which Harry and Hermione decided they would begin looking at as soon as possible. In the meantime, however, they had to prepare for their evening of entertaining.

"Who'll be cooking?" Sirius asked.

"Dobby and Kreacher," Hermione replied. Harry turned to look at her, amazed that she would employ House Elves. "I'm paying them," she said I answer to the question that, although unspoken, was written plain across his face. "In fact they ought to be here to start preparing everything any minute."

As if on cue there was the unmistakable sound of two House Elves apparating outside; two loud _crack_s. Harry went outside and was almost knocked over by what, at first glance, seemed to be a very excited ball of cotton and linen, but was in fact Dobby dressed in several layers of mismatching clothes. He tended to put Harry in mind of an excitable wardrobe whenever they met these days.

"Harry Potter sir," Dobby squeaked excitedly from around Harry's knees, "such a pleasure it is to see you again, sir. Dobby is most pleased."

"It's good to see you too Dobby," Harry replied, smiling down at the Elf. "You too Kreacher."

Kreacher, unlike Dobby, had not charged forward. Instead he was stood exactly where he had appeared and was simply looking at Harry, eyeing him up and down.

"Master Harry," Kreacher greeted him, bowing low. "We are here as summoned. Would you like us to begin preparing the food for tonight's party?"

"Please Kreacher,"Harry replied, and instantly the two Elves hurried inside the house and began to busy themselves in the kitchen. Although they could not have made a more mismatched pair, Dobby in his ragtag outfit and Kreacher in his simple pillow case with the locket of Regulus Black dangling about his neck, they worked well together and by the time guests began to arrive the smells wafting from the kitchen were making Harry salivate. Only the smells that preceded a Hogwarts feast rivalled them, which Harry was not surprised at considering that two of the Hogwarts House Elves were currently working in his kitchen.

"That smells gorgeous," Ginny said as Hermione welcomed her and Dean into the house. "What is it we're having?"

"Roast chicken," Hermione replied. "Full Sunday lunch."

"It smells like Christmas," Ron chipped in from the doorway into the living room where he was stood with Harry, Neville and Seamus.

"Thanks for raising the bar impossibly high," Harry said quietly enough so that only Ron would hear. "We've somehow got to outdo this now."

"Harry," Ron replied slowly, "you have the Hogwarts House Elves at your beck and call. You'll be fine."

Harry laughed; Ron was right. How many other people could claim to have the finest chefs in the magical world available at a mere snap of their fingers?

The conversation was easy and light-hearted as Harry, Hermione and their multitude of friends all mingled and mixed and enjoyed chats and much-needed catch-ups. There was a strange feeling in the room, as though they were all back at school and this was an end-of-exams party. But of course, those days were long behind them all now. Even Ginny and Luna had now left Hogwarts, and Bill and Charlie had left even before Harry, Hermione and Ron and all the others who had made up their intake had started. To each and every one of them gathered in that room their days as students at Hogwarts were now nothing more than fond memories to be enjoyed when nostalgia took hold. A feeling of sadness and melancholy overtook Harry for a brief moment as he realised that never had he been happier than at Hogwarts, surrounded by his friends. But those feelings left him as he realised that, although the castle was no longer his to call home, his friends were a constant in his life.

His happy, happy life.


	29. Exchange of Letters

_A/N: Welcome back everybody. I have some news to share with you all before we resume our story. As many of you may have heard, and I will reiterate here for the benefit of those who have not, J.K. Rowling has recently said that she regrets having Hermione and Ron end up together at the end of the books and that Hermione ought to have ended up with Harry. We win! On, then, with this tale of our newly-sanctioned pairing._

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Exchange of Letters**

_Harry,_

_ Thank you very kindly for your letter inquiring about a teaching position on the staff of Hogwarts. It has always been a deep hope of mine that you would, after unlocking your own potential, help the next generation of young witches and wizards to unlock theirs._

_ While we do not currently have a vacancy on the staff, one can be made. I have been persuaded by Professor McGonagall to expand each department by hiring one more teacher for every subject (with the exception of Divination, which was the first to be expanded, albeit unofficially, as you well remember I'm sure). I would, therefore, be delighted to welcome you back to the castle as Junior Defence Against the Dark Arts Master, with Professor Lupin as your immediate superior. If this meets with your approval, please send me a return letter expressing as much at your earliest convenience. If I hear nothing from you, I shall assume that you have turned down the position and will seek recruitment elsewhere._

_ If I might ask a personal favour of you, Harry, I wonder if you could ask Hermione if she would also consider taking up a teaching post – after she has had the baby, of course. I am familiar with how stressful a time pregnancy can be, and have no wish to impose upon her. However, Professor McGonagall requested her personally, and I know that Miss Granger – I do apologise, old habits die hard – has always been fond of dear Minerva. If I remember correctly Hermione always had something of an aptitude for Transfiguration, which eclipsed even her considerable abilities in every other class she took._

_ Please let me know as soon as possible whether or not one or both of you will be accepting the positions on offer. I hope to hear from you very soon._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Albus Dumbledore_

_ Order of Merlin, First Class_

_ Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

_ Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards_

_ Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"He's just offering you the job? Without any sort of interview?"

"Don't complain," Harry said as he passed the letter to Hermione for her to read for herself. "I resigned from the Ministry gambling that he would."

Quite why Harry was in need of a job Hermione had no idea. Her husband was rich almost beyond the dreams of avarice, millions upon millions of Galleons stored inside his vault at Gringotts. Hermione was hardly destitute herself, and now that they were married she and Harry shared their money, but even so she was not rich in her own right. It occurred to her that maybe Harry worked where other people had hobbies and that he needed a job simply to occupy his time. Unemployment, she knew, would not suit him. He would be bored and depressed, and would likely take to flying around the grounds of the house, deliberately risking Muggle attention. Hermione dreaded to think what might happen if Harry Potter, of all people, was hauled in front of a hearing committee from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because he had violated the Statute of Secrecy.

"What do you think about McGonagall's offer?" Harry asked. "Will there be a married couple on the Hogwarts staff?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered him. "It's a lovely thought, and I have the feeling I'd enjoy doing it. But I'd have to leave after a few months to have the baby and then I'd have to spend more months off looking after them."

"You're allowed to refuse. I won't be angry or upset, you know." Harry reassured her, but she still looked uncertain. To reinforce his point Harry stood, wrapped his arms around her and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied. After a few moments of silence Hermione spoke again. "I don't think I will. Not yet anyway. As much as I'd love to teach transfiguration I can't do it now, I've got too many commitments. Maybe in a few years, if they find they need someone again."

"Sure?" Harry checked with her. "I'm going to write that reply to Dumbledore."

"Sure," Hermione confirmed, sounding sure now. The surety in her voice, in turn, reassured Harry. Hermione never rushed into any decision, large or small. If she had made her mind up then it would be the best course of action, and Harry had no cause to worry about whether or not she had chosen wisely.

A few moments of silence passed before Hermione spoke again.

"Will you live at the castle?"

"No," Harry answered immediately. Hermione looked surprised.

"You can't walk into Hogsmeade every evening and apparate back here, surely?"

"Why not?"

"It would just be inconvenient."

"I don't mind inconvenient for you and our baby," Harry promised her, and there must have been something on in his face, perhaps deep in his emerald eyes, that told Hermione of his utter sincerity. "I'll be back in a minute. Just going to send Dumbledore the reply."

He went upstairs to their bedroom, cleared away a space on the desk that they kept in there – Harry felt strange sat in front of it. This was, in essence, reserved for Hermione – dipped a quill in a bottle of ink and scribbled a letter back to the headmaster.

_Professor,_

_ Thank you very much for your kind offer of a job teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. I am very keen to accept and look forward to the task greatly. I regret to say, however, that Hermione will not be able to join the Transfiguration Department, as she feels she must put the baby first and foremost. I hope you understand. _

_ As a consequence of this I will be unable to live at the castle. Instead, if possible, I would like to be able to leave the castle at the end of lessons each day and spend the evenings, as well as the weekends and school holidays, at home with Hermione. I hope that this is a possibility, as I sincerely wish to join the Hogwarts staff._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Harry Potter_

He rolled up the note and returned to the dining room, where he tied the scroll to the leg of the delivery owl. It hooted once before flying out of the window and disappearing into the pale blue sky of the early morning. Harry and Hermione, as one, watched it leave and kept their eyes on the bird as it grew gradually smaller, right up until it became nothing but a speck, and then beyond that when it vanished from view altogether. Once they could no longer see it, Harry turned to Hermione.

"I hope that arrangement works," he said, more to himself than to his wife. "I really want this job."

"I know," Hermione replied, standing up and taking his hand in hers. "I'm sure it will be. With the extra staff there'll be more flexibility."

Harry did not respond verbally, instead giving a non-committal nod and grunting. In truth, he was too nervous to do so complex a thing as speak. What if he were to be told that he would have to live in the castle or be refused the job? There was no question in his mind which decision he would make, of course he would turn down the job offer and live with Hermione, but he knew that it would weigh on his mind. He would lie awake at night, perhaps for hours, imagining what might have been. And what would he do then? He could hardly go back to the Ministry and re-join the Auror office, even if he had wanted to. They would never take him back, he knew. The uncertainty raged a maelstrom inside his mind, and Hermione seemed to intuit it.

"It'll be alright," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "Just watch."

Harry forced his thoughts into order and coherence.

"I know it probably will," Harry said, letting out a breath that he had not even realised that he had been holding as he spoke. "I'm just a bit nervous. I really want this job."

Hermione raised their interlocked hands to her lips and kissed his. Harry was grateful for the soft warmth that her kiss planted on his skin. It reminded him that no matter what happened, Hermione would be there to love and support him, and this comforted and rested his turbulent thoughts. Breathing more deeply than was perhaps natural, Harry forced himself to turn away from the window; the reply would not come for many hours yet, and sitting here staring at the empty sky would not speed up time.

"I think we should start thinking of baby names," Harry said. Clearly Hermione had not been expecting this. She sat bolt upright for a moment and her brown eyes grew wide with surprise.

"Alright," she said after a long moment had passed. "Any thoughts?"

"Well," said Harry, "this is going to sound incredibly clichéd, but I've always wanted to name any children I might have after my parents. If that's a boy kicking away at your ribs, I'd like to call him James. And if we're having a girl then I'd like to call her Lily."

"Oh, Harry, of course," said Hermione, and Harry noticed small tears beginning to spring forth from her eyes and roll down her pale cheeks. "Of course, we can name him or her after your parents."

"Thank you," Harry said, smiling at his wife. "We still need to think of middle names though. And I think it's fair that, since I got to choose the first names, you get to choose the middle names."

Hermione wiped her eyes and sat in thought for a few moments, listing off potential names under her breath, testing the sound of them.

"James Ronald. James Albus. James Rubeus. James Sirius. James Sirius," she repeated. "I like the sound of that one."

"So do I," Harry agreed. "James Sirius?"

"James Sirius," Hermione said, their decision made. "Now, what about a girl?" Again, she began to list off ideas. "Lily Ginevra. Lily Sophie. Lily Molly. Lily Minerva. Lily Luna. Hmm, it's not as obvious with a girl's name."

"Lily Sophie might be nice," Harry suggested. "Naming her after both of our mothers."

"Maybe not," Hermione said, with the merest hint of ice in her voice. Clearly, she had still not fully forgiven her mother for the bad blood between the two of them, and the never-mentioned deeds that had driven them apart. Harry noted, too, that she had not even entertained the thought of including her father's name in their potential son's. He did not blame her. Richard Granger had not even attempted to contact her for over a year now, and with every day that passed his chances of earning his daughter's forgiveness lessened. Already, Harry reflected, it might well be too late for them to ever reconcile.

He hoped not.

They were joined by Sirius, who came downstairs and into the kitchen to make himself breakfast. Bleary-eyed and messy-haired, he seemed barely to notice them as he entered the room and set about preparing food.

"Morning," Harry said after a minute without so much as a welcoming grunt from his godfather.

"Hey," Sirius replied, sleepily. He stifled a yawn before speaking again. "Alright?"

"Fine," Harry replied. "Just waiting on a letter from Dumbledore."

"Why have you written to Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, beginning to become more alert now that he was making himself active.

"He's offered me a job at Hogwarts. I've accepted."

Sirius smiled and moved to embrace Harry.

"Congratulations," he said, beaming at his godson. "I did wonder what you were going to do after you left the Ministry."

"So did I," Hermione contributed. "I only found out about this this morning."

"Hang on," Sirius said, suddenly concerned. "What are you going to do about living arrangements? You can't live in the castle without Hermione and the baby, and Hogwarts is not a place for a baby."

Harry waved a placating hand and grinned at Sirius.

"Don't worry, Sirius," he said in a calming tone, "we've thought all this through. I've asked Dumbledore if I can leave the castle every evening and arrive every morning, while spending my nights, weekends and holidays at home with Hermione."

Sirius frowned.

"Will that work?" he asked.

"We'll know soon enough," Hermione answered. "We've sent an owl to Dumbeldore asking that very question. We should have his response later today."

Sirius nodded before turning back to his food.

"Let me know what he says," he told them, and they both agreed that they would.

The day proved to be a drag in which boredom reigned supreme. It was until mid-afternoon that the Hogwarts owl returned to the house with Dumbledore's second letter. Eagerly Harry unfurled it and read in excited haste.

_Harry,_

_ I am sorry to hear that Hermione has declined the position offered to her on the castle staff. I sincerely hope that in time she comes to reconsider this decision. Please tell her that a job will always be open for her at the school._

_ As to the question of your non-residency at Hogwarts I see no barriers to this whatsoever. I must, however, ask that you leave no earlier than half-past five in the afternoon on any given day and arrive at the castle no later than half-past eight in the morning. Your presence will also be required at official school functions, such as the Sorting and the Halloween and Leaving Feasts. Absence from these events will require an explanation either beforehand or as soon as possible. _

_ I look forward immensely to you joining us._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Albus Dumbledore_

_ Order of Merlin, First Class_

_ Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

_ Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards_

_ Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry looked up from the letter and then up at Hermione, who was looking at him intensely. Rather than speak, Harry just smiled. Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open. Instinctively, it seemed, Hermione reached for the parchment in Harry's hands. He handed it to her and watched as her eyes flashed from side to side, taking in the words. When she had finished she looked up at her husband, and both of them simply beamed, not saying a word for fear that it would spoil this utterly perfect moment.


	30. Small Talk

_A/N: Apologies for yet another long hiatus. Please forgive. The last year has been a real rollercoaster. There's been love, there's been loss, there've been sky-high ups and there've been crushing downs. And I can't promise it'll get any better, I'm afraid. Last year of university, two novels in the works and full time daddy duties leave with me with very little time for anything else. Nonetheless, I will try my hardest to work on this as often as I can. I know I make you guys wait every time and I could not be sorrier. Please bear with me. It might take a long time, but I promise you that this story WILL be finished, I will not give up. And I promise not to rush to an ending. Again, so sorry for the waiting and I hope you enjoy the latest update._

**Chapter Thirty**

**Small Talk**

It was a question that had been playing on everybody's mind.

The sex of Harry and Hermione's forthcoming baby was a topic of great interest among their group of friends, as well as to the wizarding world as a whole thanks to the tabloid journalists of the _Daily Prophet_ and its foreign equivalents. Fred and George, to nobody's surprise, had begun to take bets. What had come as a surprise, however, was that they were operating their gambling business on a global scale.

"We've got bets coming in from all over," Fred said excitedly one mealtime at the Burrow.

"From every continent," George continued, equally enthusiastically. "The Japanese in particular seem to be very interested. We've had almost double the number of bets from Tokyo as we have from London."

"There's nearly twice the number of wizards living in Tokyo as in London," Hermione pointed out. "Perhaps you should measure your bets by proportion rather than numbers."

"Yeah, but what we said sounds more impressive," Fred replied, grinning at Hermione in such a manner that was guaranteed to amuse rather than irritate.

"Which way are most people betting?" Harry asked as he cut into his chicken.

"Almost exactly a half-and-half split," replied George, "though there is a slight shift toward the blues."

Ron looked at his brother quizzically.

"The blues?"

"A boy, you idiot. We're calling them the blues and the pinks, just for the sake of simplicity."

Ginny raised an eyebrow and glared at her brothers, both of whom recoiled under the ferocity of the look, which was so very like the one their mother had given them both countless times over the course of their lives.

"And _why_," Ginny demanded, "are the girls automatically being given pink?"

Hermione smirked, and even Harry had to supress a grin at the obvious looks of discomfort on the twins' faces as they looked back and forth between each other and their sister, both of them stammering and prevaricating their way towards a half-formed answer that, they hoped, wouldn't make any deeper the hole that they had dug for themselves.

"We didn't mean anything by it," George said eventually.

"We were just trying to make things simpler," Fred continued."

"We…"

"We er…"

"We didn't think," they eventually said together.

"That's right, you didn't," said Ginny. "I'm willing to let it go this one time, but don't ever let me catch you talking about 'blues and pinks' again."

There was a moment's silence before everyone else around the table broke out laughing. Ginny, arms folded across her chest and a look of definite triumph on her face, sat facing her brothers with a grin playing across her features. Fred and George, both visibly relieved knowing that their sister was not about to inflict one of her infamous bat bogey hexes on either of them, joined in the laughter.

"So which do you think it will be?" Luna asked as the laughter abated. It took Harry and Hermione a moment to realise that she had been addressing them, and when they did it took them another few seconds to realise that neither of them knew.

"We … hadn't really given it that much thought." Hermione finally said. "I mean, I don't care either way, of course. But I suppose that I would like to have a little girl. Or a little boy. I don't know."

"Well that's good, I was worried you were going to be vague," Ginny said before turning her attention to Harry. "What about you, proud-dad-to-be?"

"I really don't care either way," he responded after a few seconds. "I really don't. All I want is a healthy, happy baby who I can love and look after."

There was a moment of silence in the room, before Ron asked,

"So you really have no preference? At all?"

"None at all." Harry was a little stunned that everyone seemed to have such trouble understanding that he was not hoping for his baby to be one sex or the other, but then he supposed that that said something about the atmosphere that the Weasleys had grown up in. It did not take a great stretch of the imagination to believe that Mrs Weasley might have spent every pregnancy after Percy, or Charlie, or perhaps even Bill, yearning for a daughter. Perhaps, Harry thought, that had been the case even with Bill, since the Weasleys were famous, and the subject of envy, among wizarding families because of their seeming inability to produce anything but sons. Ginny, if he remembered correctly, had been the first girl born to any Weasley for several generations, and Molly's wish had finally been granted.

The discussion continued on for almost half an hour before eventually Hermione got up. She was beginning to show now, and every eye in the room flicked to her bump before returning to wherever they had been prior to her standing up.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked his wife.

"To the bathroom," Hermione replied, and made her way out of the room.

"So when do you start at Hogwarts?"

It was Ron who had asked the question, which did not surprise Harry. He gave Ron a few moments in which he hoped his friend would recognise the obvious answer to his question. But when Ron simply stared at him, expecting an answer, it was all Harry could do not to laugh.

"First of September," he responded. "You know, like everyone else."

"Oh yeah." The two men shared a laugh at Ron's lack of logical thought before continuing their conversation. "So you won't be living at the castle?"

Harry showed him Dumbledore's letter, which he had been keeping in his pockets for most of the time since he had received it. Ron read the letter quickly before handing it back.

"I might become a teacher," he said, contemplatively. "The Auror Office is getting boring without you around, and I think I have some pearls of wisdom to offer to the younger generation."

This time Harry failed to restrain a snort of derision.

"Pearls of wisdom? From the man who just forgot when Hogwarts starts? Are you sure you'd even make it to the Sorting?"

Ron smiled at the jest, then reminded Harry that if he did fail to attend it would not be the first time. Harry remembered that very well. They had both missed the Sorting Ceremony in their Second Year at Hogwarts, and Harry had missed three more that he ought to have been at had it not been for unfortunate occurrences. A thought struck him.

"You know I've just realised that while we were at Hogwarts I missed more Sortings than I was at."

"Did you?" Ron sounded surprised.

"Think about it," Harry answered. "I should have been at seven Sortings." He held up seven fingers. "I missed one because we hit a certain tree." He lowered one finger. "I missed another because of the dementors." Another finger was lowered. "I missed yet another one because Malfoy almost got me sent back to London on the train." A third finger went down. "And of course, we missed the Sorting in our Seventh Year because we weren't even there." A fourth finger was lowered. "I only went to three Sortings in seven years."

"Blimey," was all Ron could say. "I'd always remembered that you were there for most of them."

"I usually made it to the feast, didn't I?" Harry reminded him. "You're probably remembering that."

Ron said nothing, instead shuffling in the chair that he was sat in. It was the same chair that he always occupied on his visits to Sirius' house, where Harry and Hermione were still living. It was not an arrangement that would continue for much longer, however, as Harry and Hermione had recently found a house that they had liked the look of and had decided to buy it. There was no question that the house would be theirs; there were no other potential buyers, and even if there were Harry's extravagant wealth would be enough to outbid them.

The house in question was a small affair, situated in a small clearing in the heart of a forest so tiny that nobody had ever bothered to name it. A small stone structure, the house had fulfilled every hope that Hermione had ever had for her own home, and Harry had had to admit that it was a thing of beauty. The seller, a wizard, had agreed to give Harry the house at a much discounted cost, but even with that the price had put a dent in Harry's account at Gringotts. It had not been a large dent, but it had been something of a wake-up call for Harry, who until then had always assumed that his parents had left him enough money to buy the earth and still be left with piles of gold.

"So when are you moving into your new place?" Ron asked, as though reading Harry's thoughts.

"As soon as we can," Harry replied. "Hopefully that will be before I start at Hogwarts and definitely before the baby comes. We want to get settled in with time to spare before the new arrival."

"Got a name for the baby yet?" Ron asked, trying his best to sound off-hand about the question, but Harry saw it for the transparent trick that it was. Perhaps cruelly, but assuring himself that Ron would think it in all good humour later, Harry decided to have some fun with him.

"Alex."

Alex had never crossed their minds as a potential name for their baby, but it had been the first unisex name that Harry had been able to think of. Ron frowned, evidently wondering whether the imaginary Alex was male or female, and debating with himself whether or not he should ask what Alex was short for. It was all written on his face for Harry to read, and Harry could not help but laugh aloud.

"What?" Ron asked. "What's so funny?"

"We're not calling them Alex," Harry replied between bursts of laughter. "And as if I'd be so thick as to not see that for the half-hearted trick that it was."

"Ah well," said Ron, beginning to chuckle himself as the laughter spread to him, "I tried. Can't blame me for wanting a few extra galleons for myself."

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed. "But please, mate, don't ask me. Hermione and I don't know ourselves. We've decided we want to know when they're born and not before."

Ron's mouth fell ever so slightly open.

"I'd want to know if it was me," he said. "Speaking of which…" He leaned in closer to Harry and whispered his next words conspiratorially. "Luna thinks she might be pregnant."

It was the turn of Harry's mouth to drop open.

"Seriously?" he asked, whispering just as Ron had.

"Seriously," Ron confirmed. "I mean, she's only a couple of weeks late, so it could be nothing. But if she is…" He let the thought hang, but Harry could see the excitement in his eyes.

"I just want to know whether or not they'll be ginger," Harry joked, earning a jovial punch to the upper arm.

"Don't tell anyone," Ron told him. "You're my best mate, so I wanted you to know first, but honestly nobody's meant to know yet. So tell no one, alright? Not even Hermione."

Harry nodded his agreement to Ron's request.

"Whatever you say. I promise to act surprised when I'm officially told."

Ron smiled at him.

"Thanks mate."

They embraced, as close as brothers.

"Any ideas on names?" Harry asked when they broke apart.

"Steady on," Ron replied. "Just getting used to the idea at the moment, and besides it might not even be happening. Don't want to get my hopes up, although I think it might be too late for that already." He grinned, and Harry could not help but grin with him. The thought that their children might grow up together, and mirror their fathers in their close, almost fraternal, friendship filled him with a warm pleasure, and he suspected that Ron felt similarly.

"So how is everyone?" he asked eventually.

"Not bad," Ron answered. "Bill and Fleur are waiting for their baby – lots of babies around at the moment aren't there?" Harry nodded. "Anyway," continued Ron. "Charlie and John are very happy together. In fact, they've just bought a house somewhere in Oxfordshire. You should see it, it's lovely. Really spacious, with a huge plot of land attached to it."

"Did, by any chance, Charlie buy the house with the enormous plot of land precisely so that he could play Quidditch?" Harry asked, smirking.

"Naturally. John says he spends more time on a broomstick than he does talking about dragons."

"Wow." Harry was genuinely shocked. Charlie was known by many to have given up a potentially stellar career in professional Quidditch to instead study dragons in Romania. "He's not thinking of turning professional is he?"

"Wouldn't know," Ron shrugged. "Only person he'd tell is John, and neither is saying a word. But I do know that he's had offers. Puddlemere United, the Chudley Cannons, the Wimbourne Wasps and the Tutshill Tornados, and there's talk of an offer from the England team as well."

"He'd have to be mad to turn down offers like that," Harry exclaimed. "Well, except maybe the one from Chudley Cannons."

"Careful what you say about the Cannons," Ron said in mock threat.

"Oh come on Ron," Harry said. "How can you support a team who changed their motto from 'We shall conquer' to 'Let's just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best'? I mean, when was the last time they even won a match?"

Ron turned slightly red.

"Just this year, actually," Ron answered triumphantly. "They beat Wigtown Wanderers _and _the Falmouth Falcons."

"Yeah," Harry said. "And didn't the manager collapse from the shock?"

Ron hurled a cushion at him, which Harry lazily set back on a chair with a flick of his wand.

"What about everyone else?" Harry asked, returning to his original question. "Last time I looked you had more than two siblings."

"Percy is as dull as ever," Ron continued. "Still working at the Ministry, the git. Fred and George are on the cusp of becoming millionaires. There's going to be a piece about them in _Witch Weekly_, actually. '_The Men Who Made Galleons from Giggles_'."

"And Ginny?"

"Still with Dean. They see each other a few times a week, and I think he might propose in a few months. Don't mention anything to Ginny though, yeah? That's just a hunch."

Harry mimed pulling a zip across his lips.

"When did we all grow up?" he asked Ron. "Doesn't seem like that long ago we were all at school. Now we're proposing and getting married and having babies. I feel old."

"Don't," Ron said. "You'll make me feel old too."


End file.
